


Carrier

by just_another_tinker



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Author has no medical knowledge, Hospitalization, I repeat, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Temporary Character Death, Very Temporary Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11618775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_tinker/pseuds/just_another_tinker
Summary: Tony swept his gaze over the jacket. It was well used, heavily worn down, but not in a bad way. The fabric felt softened over years of use, and the slight discolorations seemed to suit it. Tony could see the marks left over from the previous owners. A small patch, sewn perfectly in neat little stiches on the inside breast pocket screamed of Steve’s steady hands, while the fraying on tails remained as evidence of Bucky’s impatient tugging.Or, Steve and Bucky gift Tony with their jacket that survived from the 1940's.Turns out that wasn't the only thing that survived.





	1. Chapter 1

Tony grunted, pulling harder against the handle. A small creak from the door had Tony bracing himself for one last tug – when a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders gently, stopping him in his tracks.

He let said hands guide him slightly to the left, one trailing away, no doubt to grab the handle. Tony huffed, crossing his arms when he heard the door groan open. _Of course he only needed one arm,_ Tony thought with a roll of his eyes.

He sent a dirty look over to the owner of those arms, Steve just giving him a small shrug and nervous smile in return.

Tony had a theory that somewhere, deep in the core code of Steve’s DNA, there was a certain combination that strung together to give him what Tony calls the _‘help’_ gene. Very beneficial, but comes with the annoying side effect of incapability to _not_ help. It was like Steve had a radar that was always searching for any hint of distress, body springing straight into action. Useful at times, of course, but Tony’s a grown ass man and _no,_ he doesn’t need help reaching a mug on the top shelf.

Steve swung the door all the way open, a blast of cold air blasting out in return. Tony shivered slightly, tugging at his sleeves as he stepped around Steve. His nose wrinkled instantly, the smell of dust and stale air tickling his nostrils. Light had flooded in when the door was opened, but darkness and shadows still remained, making this place a little bigger than he thought. The echoing steps he took once inside confirmed that fact.

A buzzing sounded, accompanied by the familiar clicks of florescent lights flickering on.

Walls of boxes burst into view, lining the room in neat little rows. They were mostly indistinguishable, except for coded labeling that was peeling on the sides of each one, jumbled numbers that sat in front of the same word:

_Rebirth._

“Well, I don’t know what I was expecting,” Tony sighed.

“What, like Stevie’s secret stash of dirty magazines?” came a familiar drawl.

A sputtering came from his right, as Bucky snickered to his left. “I never owned any of those!” Steve cried.

“Oh, sorry,” Bucky continued, stepping further into the musty room, but not before shooting a wicked grin over his shoulder. “I must be thinking of mine.”

Tony snorted, patting Steve on a blushing cheek, letting his eyes linger.

Tony had another theory. That he, for as long as he was alive, would never not be attracted to Steve Rogers. There was never a bad look for him. Whether he was donned in the finest tux or covered in the unmentionables of the New York sewer system, Steve always burned bright. However, the slight dusting of pink that flashed over the blonde’s skin was always a personal favorite of his, if not more so, Bucky’s.

Bucky had told Tony that the first time he’d seen Steve blush post serum, he almost cried from laughter. It was during the war, right after Steve swooped in and liberated the remainder of the 107th from behind HYDRA’s lines. Steve had managed to cart Bucky off to a dark and secluded corner of the weapons tent for some _alone time_ , which, as they were an active war camp in the 1940’s, didn’t seem like the most rational thing to do.

 _“Please,”_ Bucky said as he told Tony the story. “ _It’s Steve. Are you really that surprised?”_

 _“Like you were any better,”_ Steve had snapped back.

Long story short, Steve ended up shirtless with a hand down his pants, while Bucky whispered less than saintly things into his ear. Which is how Bucky had made the discovery that the serum had enhanced, well, everything.

Bucky described it as a drop of red paint dropping onto a blank sheet; Steve’s natural flush concentrated at his face, but slowly fanning out on to his body of white canvas. And usually, Tony would roll his eyes at the over dramatization, but he had to agree with Bucky on this one. He liked to think that getting a peek at Steve all riled up was bound to make Michelangelo cry.

But for Bucky, being the ass that he is, who had spent his life cracking wise at pre-serum Steve’s rosy cheeks, was delighted to find out that it now spread all down Steve’s chest. In the end, they couldn’t even fool around, as Bucky’s laughs had alerted over half the camp. Steve hadn’t been amused.

“You planning on helping, or are you just going to stand there?” Bucky’s voice finally broke his eyes away from Steve.

Tony rolled his eyes, but dutifully branched off into a corner of the room, walking idly between the rows of boxes. He poked his head in a few, being met with nothing but stacks of paperwork. It’s not like they were looking anything in particular, but Tony had hoped for something a little more substantial.

It was Steve’s idea; he was the man with the plan, after all. Bucky’s recovery has been a long and difficult road – not to say it wasn’t worth it. Tony was in constant awe of how strong that man was, how far he had come. But, despite the leaps and bounds that he’d made, there were still plenty of gaps. And while both he and Steve was more than happy to sit for days upon days, regaling Bucky about his past and filling him in on the things he’d missed, Steve suggested they tried something new.

Tony had told Steve about Howard’s storage rooms ages ago, back when the team had originally moved into the tower. Said storage rooms filled with any and all possible Captain America history and memorabilia. Tony had thought of it as an olive branch after their disastrous first meeting, a chance for Steve to at least get something of his old life back. Of course, it failed spectacularly, and Steve didn’t want anything to do with them. Too painful of a reminder of a life that was ripped from him. So, the storage rooms were locked back up and forgotten about.

Until Bucky came crashing into their lives. And then Steve brought it up again. As Captain America’s #2, most of their history was intertwined. Steve thought it would be a good idea for Bucky to poke around, look at some old photos, artifacts, anything that would connect him to the man he once was. As a fervent tactile learner, Tony hastily agreed.

Which is how they found themselves here. This was the second stop on their tour de storage rooms. The first one had been quite successful, Steve finding a huge photo album of all The Commandos and their exploits throughout the war. It was nice, sitting back, watching the two of them bicker back and forth, never really finishing a sentence before they were off to the races and pointing to another photo.

 _I don’t think we’ll be as lucky today,_ Tony mused to himself as he picked through one of the boxes. A few quick scans confirmed what Tony was thinking; these were all of Howard’s notes on Project Rebirth. Which, as interesting as they may be, hold nothing to offer Bucky. But Tony pushed on, closing the current box and moving to the next. He heard the comforting sounds of Steve and Bucky puttering around him, all soothing rumbles and even breaths, and Tony found himself losing time.

He rifled through a few more boxes, peeking up at the other two every once in a while to check in. The last time, while looking at photos, they just seemed so at ease. Laughing, joking. It was like they really were back in time, like he could see glimpses of the men they used to be. Steve, with wide open eyes; expressive and soft, not crumbling under the weight of the world. And Bucky, innocent and carefree, with a flashing smile that could put the sun to shame.

It wasn’t all great, however. The only bad part to this constant trip down memory lane is the look the pair will get in their eyes sometimes. So distant and lost. Tony wants nothing more than to bundle them both up and take them away, keep them safe, but even Tony can’t protect them from time. That’s probably the main reason he insisted on coming with them. They’d been alone for far too much of their lives; it was Tony’s goal to make sure they never had that feeling ever again.

Tony was about to call it quits, when a final box caught his eye. It was smaller than the than the rest of the file boxes, nestled towards the back. Tony sauntered over, flipping the lid off.

“Well, I’ll be,” he murmured.

“What’d you find?” he heard Steve call out.

Tony didn’t respond, just leaned in and pulled out.

A jacket.

He heard the familiar steps of super soldiers. Steve huffed out a laugh. “That’s my jacket,” he said, reaching out to trail a hand over the worn material. Tony lifted his gaze, intent on handing it over to Steve, when the look on Bucky’s face stopped him.

Bucky frowned at the leather, brow furrowing, his mind no doubt whirring at lightening speeds as he tried to piece something together. “No,” he finally responded, slowly. “That’s my jacket.”

Steve beamed at the man, which Tony had translated to a ‘ _stop what you’re doing, my boyfriend is being incredible’_ face. “Yeah, Buck,” he replied happily, pulling the brunette close. “You’re right. It was yours, too.”

Tony held the jacket up in front of the two men. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t think it’ll fit either of you, now.” _Like that would stop them,_ Tony thought to himself. The Brooklyn Boys had made a hobby out of cramming into clothing clearly not meant for them. Not that Tony had a problem with it, no sir.

“No, this is from before the war,” Steve replied, taking the jacket from Tony. “It was Bucky’s, but he grew out of it. I could never really find clothes that were in my size, and when I did, it was a miracle if I could afford them. Bucky was nice enough to give me his hand-me-downs.”

“Benefits of only having sisters,” Bucky replied taking his turn looking at the jacket. “I remember giving this to you. Your fingers barely stuck out of the sleeves,” he said with a smile.

“How did it end up here?” Tony asked.

“I wore over my uniform the day they injected me with the serum. It was breezy that day; I needed the extra layer. I guess Howard just packed it away with everything else, seeing as I didn’t have much use for it after the procedure.”

Tony just nodded, looking back to the jacket, trying to picture a smaller Steve swimming in the material, or even a younger Bucky, as he struggled to fit into the same sleeves.

The jacket was thrust in his face. “Put it on.”

Tony blinked. “Excuse me?”

Bucky just shrugged, pushing the jacket closer to his chest. “It’s not gonna fit us.”

“So your immediate answer is to shove me in it?” Tony asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Come on, doll. Give us a show.”

And, _wow,_ there it was again. That city drawl and dark gaze that had Tony feeling like a bumbling highschooler again, experiencing flirting for the first time. A quick glance at Steve to make sure he hadn’t crossed any lines, and Tony was slipping on the jacket.

It was a bit loose, whether that be from age or just because of his smaller frame, and the smell from being in storage for over seventy years wasn’t doing any favors, but Tony could tell that the jacket worked for him. Not that he was surprised in the least; Tony could wear the hell out of a trash bag if he had too.

Bucky whistled.

“Lookin’ sharp there,” Steve smiled.

Tony swept his gaze over the jacket. It was well used, heavily worn down, but not in a bad way. The fabric felt softened over years of use, and the slight discolorations seemed to suit it. Tony could see the marks left over from the previous owners. A small patch, sewn perfectly in neat little stiches on the inside breast pocket screamed of Steve’s steady hands, while the fraying on tails remained as evidence of Bucky’s impatient tugging.

He made a move to shrug off the jacket when Bucky stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “You should keep it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “It doesn’t do us much good anymore, but it looks good on you.”

Tony looked back down on at the jacket to hide what felt like a flush on his cheeks. “I-I couldn’t,” Tony started. “It’s not really my style, and I’m pretty such this is a historical- ”

He broke off when he looked back up at the pair, both shooting him _the look._ Furrowed brows and pouts, accompanied with wide, blue eyes, one pair like waves shimmering in the sunlight, the other like the first frost forming on a window.

“I mean, I love it,” Tony corrected, shooting them a quick smile.

The beaming grins he got in return were enough to seal the deal.

Tony wore it all through lunch, at some run down diner Steve dragged them to after leaving the storage site. He found himself slipping it on for meeting Rhodey for coffee the next day. It ended up as a make shift blanket when he drifted off in the lab. It accompanied him on his plane as he made a quick hop over to Malibu, a press conference in DC, and much to Pepper’s chagrin, even board meetings.

Tony liked to think it was an act of charity, just wearing the jacket not to hurt Steve or Bucky’s feelings. But deep down, he knew it was more than that. It was a security blanket, giving him a false sense of being surrounded by the super soldiers. And, it was a sure ticket to get them to smile at him when they saw him wearing it, thus adding to the delusion that they would ever want him.

But for Tony, it was enough.

With ages comes wisdom, and Tony had learned long ago that even he can’t get everything that he wants.

He shouldn’t complain. Tony didn’t _have_ them, but he still had them – they were a constant presence in his life, one that he would not trade for anything.

And besides, it wasn’t just Steve and Bucky. It was all of them. His team. He had them, and it _was_ enough.

It was a thought that struck him about two weeks later. Tony had walked out of the elevator, chatting tiredly with Pepper, massaging his temple as the recent, and loud, conversation he had with the board still rattled around in his skull.

The noise didn’t seem to want to go away; but that was when Tony realized that it was coming from in front of him. Opening his eyes, he was met with a scene that he never though he’d ever see. Pepper slipped away from him, gravitating immediately to where Natasha was chopping vegetables at the kitchen island, a glass of wine already waiting for her. Steve stood at the stove, a slight pout on his face as he looked between the cookbook and the pot he was currently stirring. A loud thud had Tony looking left, to where Bucky and Clint were currently fighting over the TV remote. The pair wrestled to the ground and over to Bruce, who just lifted his legs for the two to roll under, eyes never leaving the book he was reading. Thor sat in a large armchair, hands waving madly as he described something to Sam, Rhodey bent over laughing, intently focusing on Sam’s reactions rather than Thor’s story.

_This is my life._

To be fair, moments like this rarely happen. Turns out scheduling was one of the greatest foes the team would ever cross. There always seemed to be another mission, meeting, or even intergalactic travel that kept them spaced apart at times. But whenever they were all together, Tony found himself soaking every moment up, not daring to forget a single moment.

_“You got a family?”_

_“Yes, and I will see them when I leave here. And you, Stark?”_

_“No.”_

_“So you’re a man who has everything… and nothing.”_

Yinsen’s words had cut deeper that the shrapnel, when he whispered that to Tony in that dark cave. But now… Tony liked to picture how it would be different. What he would tell Yinsen if he were here. How he would sit for hours talking about anything and everything about them. His family. 

Maybe Howard was right about one thing. There is no better reward than that of which you create yourself. He always thought the old man was raving on about inventions – which he to agree with, seeing as JARVIS, his suits, and even his quirky bots housed a large section of his blackened heart. But this rag tag group in front of him might be his crowning achievement. Sure, it was a ‘team effort’, and Tony certainly didn’t make it easy, but he liked to trick himself into thinking that he was part of the reason why they were all still here with him.

He’d found his everything.

He was happy.

 

And then Tony got a cough. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you cold?”

Tony looked up from his tablet and across the table, meeting Bruce’s stare. “No. Are you? JARVIS can bump it up a few degrees in here.”

Bruce shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” he said with a small smile. Tony both loved and hated that smile. Bruce always looked good in a smile, but it always came with a slightly shocked expression, like Bruce wasn’t used to the idea of being pleased. “It’s just, you’re wearing a jacket. Not your usual lab attire, that’s all.”

Tony looked down at the warm jacket that had become a fixated part of his wardrobe. Tony just shrugged. “Guess I forgot to take it off.”

Bruce just stared, calculating, and gave a short hum.

Tony sighed, putting down his tablet. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce said with false innocence. “Just thinking.”

“About what.”

“Why you won’t take the jacket off.”

“Again with the jacket. What did it ever do to you?”

“You didn’t forget to take it off. You’re sitting in it, waiting for the off chance certain someone’s walk through that door and see you in it.”

“Hoping you’re this special someone?” Tony retorted with a wink. “Why, Brucie-bear, if you wanted to go a date, all you had to do was ask.”

“Your joking is answer enough. You’ve got it bad.”

Just then, the lab doors whooshed open, Bucky stepping in. He sent a wave over to Bruce before looking over to Tony, beaming at the man. Always infectious, Tony smiled back. “Hey, Buck,” he called over.

Bruce just hummed again. “So bad,” he chuckled.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “You are a cruel man, Dr. Banner.”

“Almost as much as you are oblivious, Mr. Stark.”

“Dr. Stark. _Doctor._ I have more degrees than you do, but somehow I’m just Mr. Stark. Rude.”

Tony could hear Bucky snort in the background.

Bruce just laughed. “I get the full title because people don’t usually like to see me angry. You on the other hand, kind of remind me of a kitten that got stuck in a rainstorm. Just grumpy. And pretty screechy.”

“Barnes, come defend my honor.”

Bucky walked over to the lab table. “I don’t know, Tones. I think I’m with Bruce on this one. I don’t wanna see him angry. ‘Specially not at me.”

“What is this? What’s happening here?” Tony gasped dramatically. “You recording this, J?”

“I’ve complied this instance into your growing file of ‘Workplace Harassment’,” JARVIS replied dryly.

“Now that’s a friend.”

“Isn’t that just because you built him that way?” Bruce asked coyly.

Tony chucked a wrench at the smaller man, Bruce easily dipping out of the way. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave you alone,” Bruce chuckled as he walked towards the door. He turned back, glancing at Tony. “We’re still on for Friday, right? You can’t leave me in a room alone with Reed Richards, Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll be there,” Tony responded, waving the man away. “I need someone to laugh at my jokes when I discredit all his theses.”

Bruce just shot him a thumbs up, finally dipping out of the lab.

“You have a very strange relationship with that man.”

Tony turned back to Bucky, his laugh turning into a few loud coughs. “We’re basically ‘The Odd Couple’.”

At Bucky’s blank look, Tony was already mentally adding it to the list of things to have the man experience. He was sidetracked, however, when we saw that Bucky was cradling his left arm.

“Again?”

Bucky just nodded, rubbing a hand across that back of his neck.

Tony sighed, gesturing him over. Bucky complied, flopping tiredly into the stool beside him. Tony pushed his around so he sat facing Bucky. He reached his hands out slowly, keeping eye contact with the other brunette. It was something he caught onto very quickly whenever he was working on the arm – Bucky liked to see where his hands were and what they were doing. Bucky just nodded again, giving Tony a soft smile as he pushed his left arm into his outstretched hands.

It was such a change from when Bucky first arrived at the Tower. Tony barely even saw the man, as he was always locked away in Steve’s apartment, unwilling to face the world that had ruined him. When Bucky did show his face, it was like seeing a mask – dead eyes and a blank stare, never really responding to the environment around him. Just watching. Always watching.

To this day, Bucky says he isn’t sure how Steve did it. How he was able ‘to save him’, as Bucky always put it. He always joked that it was due to Steve’s unwavering determinism. Steve never faltered, never cracked, when handling Bucky’s situation. He was a constant presence at his side, working day in and day out to crack at the shell of the broken man.

But Tony knew. He knew how Steve did it. And he also knew how Steve did crack.

He remembered pushing brandy into the blonde’s hands after one of Bucky’s meltdowns, his defeated head only looking up to throw back the drink. He remembered taping up Steve’s hands, bloodied to a pulp, around the remains of a punching bag in the wee hours of the morning. He remembered constantly shoving food into Steve’s face, as the man was so invested in his friend that he couldn’t take care of himself. He remembered each night he found Steve silently sobbing in a darkened stairwell of the tower, just leading the man back upstairs, not offering any words, just warm tea. He remembered it all; the moments that no one was supposed to.

But Steve had just said that he needed to do this. That he would, no matter what it cost him. It was his penance, for leaving his friend when he so desperately needed him.

_“He picked me up from so many scraps,” Steve whispered, fighting back tears. “He pulled my ass from the fire so many times, like it was nothing, like it was his job, and I couldn’t even return the favor. He needed me. And I wasn’t there for him.”_

_“You can’t take this blame. This was HYDRA, this wasn’t you!” Tony tried to placate. “You couldn’t have known, Steve.”_

_“He would’ve.”_

Bucky didn’t know any of this. And knowing Steve, paired with Tony’s goal to keep anything from hurting that man again, Bucky never will.

If Tony wasn’t half in love in Steve already, he probably would have left it there, but he didn’t. The next morning had Tony dropping an entire bottle of Dramamine into Steve’s tea, waiting for the blonde to finally crumble under exhaustion, before pulling a reclusive Bucky out of their apartment and up to Tony’s penthouse.

Tony had originally planned on taking him to the lab. He was most at ease there, in a comforting and familiar environment. And with attempting to bridge the gap with a global assassin, Tony needed all the help he could get. But it wasn’t until the pair was in the elevator that Tony faltered. How many labs had that man been in during his imprisonment? How many times was he strapped to a chair while they wiped his life away? No. Tony wasn’t going to add to the already immense distrust he had of this place.

So up to the penthouse it was, Tony pushing Bucky onto the couch, ready to work a remedy of his own design that he used on Steve all the time. At that point, Tony had been around Steve enough to know that when the super soldier was distressed, there were only three things he could do to combat it: get him warm, get him fed, and get him distracted.

Tony can still remember the way that Bucky’s eyes just darted back and forth, watching as Tony danced around the room, making trip upon trip, pushing blankets and reheated takeout into the other man’s hands. Bucky flinched every time, but Tony paid it no mind, just ordering JARVIS to turn on the trashiest reality TV show he could find. And that’s where they stayed all day, Bucky slowly picking his way through five different nations’ foods as he stared at the television. He didn’t say much, but that was alright with Tony, as he had more than enough to say for the both of them. Throughout the day, he would just take a peek over at Bucky, mentally listing which foods he seemed to like best – it was Italian, a man after his own heart – and which shows seemed to keep his attention. In the end, they settled on reruns of ‘The Joy of Painting’ with Bob Ross. Tony asked him why much later in their friendship, and Bucky just shrugged, saying that it made him feel safe and comfortable. Turns out on rainy days in their childhood and with nothing else to do, Bucky would watch Steve paint, the frail blonde talking away until he had a finished product.  

Steve happened upon them by accident later in the day, probably just after he’d awoken from his drugged slumber. He came barreling into the room, eyes wild and afraid as he shouted for Tony, claiming that Bucky was gone and that they had to find him before someone took him again. The look of utter shock that fell onto Steve’s face, as he saw Bucky sitting quietly on the couch, was one that Tony would remember for a long time.

_“Take a chill pill, Cap. Barnes was with me. We had a swell time, didn’t we?”_

Bucky had just grumbled something under his breath before darting off the couch and out the door, mostly likely back down to Steve’s apartment, Steve trailing after him with a still dazed look on his face.

Tony thought that would have been the end of it, but not even three days later, Bucky was stepping back into the penthouse with a tub of ice cream, just muttering a gruff _“Steve won’t stop hovering”,_ before plopping back down on the couch and turning on the TV.

And so started there little ‘thing’, as Tony liked to call it. Bucky started to reach out, coming to Tony, bribing him with food to sit and watch crap television with him. Tony gladly accepted. It wasn’t until about a month later when Natasha caught them in the penthouse when she came up with some paperwork from Pepper. She took one look at Tony and Bucky sitting on the couch together, mid debate over the show they were watching, tilted her head slightly, and then left the room.

Tony was concerned at first, as Natasha was one of the most wary of Bucky’s arrival. But the next day, Tony stumbled into the communal kitchen for a quick cup of Joe, when he was met with the sight of Bucky and Natasha leaning over a book, muttering quietly to each other in Russian. When Bucky went back upstairs, Tony cornered Natasha.

_“I saw what you were doing with him, how you were reaching out. You’ve been trying to help Steve handle the load. Well, we’re a team. It’s about time the rest of us pull our weight.”_

And pull their weight they did. Not even a week gone by, and Tony found himself staring into the gym, watching as Clint and Bucky had target practice with paintball guns, Clint laughing and joking as if he’d known Bucky his whole life. He saw Bucky come back from a workout, not with Steve, but with Sam, the man explaining how to correctly eat pizza. Tony once found himself enraptured by Bruce giving Bucky a lecture on the different types of tea he owned, and what he should try for each different mood he was in.

What really had stuck with Tony was the way Steve started to carry himself. No more slumped slouching, defeated before the day even began. The dark circles vanished from his face, replaced by smiles and warm laughs. Turns out Bucky wasn’t the only one who needed healing.

Tony convinced himself at the beginning that he was doing this for Steve, helping him deal with Bucky as a way to offer the man comfort, as he wasn’t allowed to show the real comfort he wanted to give. But as time went on, Tony found himself gravitating towards Bucky, falling for the man that was rediscovering himself.

Loving Steve was fast, and as easy as breathing. It was holding a match to kerosene, completely encompassing and leaving him breathless. But Bucky – loving him was the opposite. It was slow, like a small ache forming in the pit of his heart, always present and always growing, until it finally overflowed, and all he could feel was Bucky.

“You alright there?”

Tony jolted, nearly falling out of his stool, Bucky grabbing him gently to keep him steady.

“Tony? You okay, doll?” Bucky asked again, his eyes trailing over Tony’s form, no doubt looking for any discrepancies.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Tony replied, grabbing at Bucky’s arm again. “Just got lost in my own head for a second.”

Bucky just snorted, rolling his eyes. “Shocking. Truly.”

Tony glared at the now smirking man. “I’m sorry, do you want my help? Because you’re not gonna get it with that attitude, Mister.”

“I’m sure I’ll find a way to convince you,” Bucky said back, his voice as smooth as sip of scotch.

Tony bit his lip hard, opting not to reply, intent on focusing on the arm in front of him and not the growing problem in his pants. “You know, if you let me start from scratch and make you a new one, you wouldn’t keep having these problems.”

Bucky heaved a sigh, trying to come off as nonchalant. Bullshit. Tony could see the slight tremors in his fingers as Tony carefully picked through the wiring to find the catch. “This one works just fine. Besides, I’m used to it.”

Tony hummed, spotting the tiny node sticking out of its receptor. He pushed it back in gently, clicking it into place, Bucky slumping instantly in relief. “Mine would be better,” Tony shrugged.

Bucky didn’t reply, just watching as Tony gave the arm another once over, before slipping the plates back into position. Tony bit his lip again, before continuing. “It’s alright to be scared,” he murmured. “You know I wouldn’t do anything that could possibly- ”

“It’s not you,” Bucky cut him off quickly. “God, how could you think that it was you? I trust _you,_ Tony. It’s me that’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I remember them. When they worked on my arm. When they had to take it off for extended maintenance. I never reacted well. I can’t risk hurting you; I won’t take that chance.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Tony, there have been multiple occasions where I- ”

“That was different! You didn’t know who you were, you were protecting yourself in an unfamiliar space.”

“And what if I try to protect myself again, huh? We don’t know what I might do,” Bucky snapped back.

“Exactly,” Tony responded. “We don’t know. And we won’t know unless we try.”

Bucky just shook his head, looking down at the metal arm. “I still don’t like it. Maybe… maybe if you put me under, you could- ”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Tony, if you- ”

“Sorry, Barnes, that’s a deal breaker. I can give you stuff to numb you up no problem, but I’m not gonna put you under. I’m not gonna make you go to sleep again.”

Bucky paused, smiling warmly at him. “Well, it seems we’re at an impasse.”

Tony coughed into his sleeve. “Well, at least until you give in. It’s my charm, no one’s been able to resist.”

“I’d like to think I can give you a run for your money,” Bucky smirked.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Tony patted Bucky on the arm again, sitting back. “Well, my metal friend, you are good to go. Be free, young padawan.” 

Bucky, however, yanked Tony up along with him. “Not without you. It’s almost dinner, and you know how Steve feels about tardiness.”

“Dinner, again? I could have sworn I did that yesterday.”

Bucky just snorted. “There’s something wrong with you.”

“A few something’s actually,” Tony smiled, wiping sweat from his brow. “Thank God I still have my looks.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “Thank God, indeed. You comin’?”

Tony shooed his towards the door. “You go on ahead. I need to shower.”

“Fine, but if you’re not up in twenty minutes, I’m sending Natasha on you,” Bucky replied easily, sauntering out of the lab.

Tony, not wasting any time, slipped towards the back of the lab where he had installed a small bathroom. He turned on the water to the shower and shucked his clothes quickly, everything landing on the floor around him except for the jacket, which was hung neatly on a rack behind the door.

Stepping into the spray, Tony winced, struggling to breathe under the heat and steam surrounding him. He blindly reached for the handle, yanking it to the right to cool the water off.

He scrubbed his body methodically, replacing grease stains with raw, pink skin. Tony bent down for his shampoo, but he gasped, his vision whiting out as his knees buckled. Tony grabbed onto the shower handle, stopping his fall. He stayed there panting, breathless and lightheaded, waiting for his body to find its equilibrium again.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

Tony leaned back slowly, rubbing at his face. “Yeah, J, not sure what came over me. Maybe I’m more hungry than I thought.”

“If I may, your internal body temperature is- ”

“JARVIS, we’ve had this conversation multiple times. A man is allowed to get hot and bothered when standing in close proximity with someone he wants to bang. Or in my case, bang, love forever, and move into a house with a cliché picket fence with him and his just as distracting boyfriend.”

“As you say, Sir.”  

He coughed again, spitting into the drain before turning off the water. “Good enough.”

He dried off quickly, not wanting to waste any time, slipping on extra clothes he stocked in the lab. One last glance in the mirror, a hand wiping under his eyes to try and erase the dark circles that sat there, and Tony was headed up the door for dinner.

“I’m off to dinner. Stay out of my toolbox,” Tony said, pointing an accusing finger over at DUM-E, the bot just replying with a sad whir.

“Very good, Sir,” JARVIS replied approvingly. “Shall I keep your projects open or should I shut down for the night?”

“No, leave it- ” but Tony cut himself off, taking in the weight of his feet as he dragged them across the floor. “Actually, save and close, J man. I’m gonna hit the hay after dinner; I’ll pick this up tomorrow.”


	3. Chapter 3

Tony furrowed his brow, glaring down at the gauntlet on his left hand. Giving it a final once over, he slipped the final panels back into place, wiggling his fingers to test the mobility. Not meeting any resistance, Tony hummed, satisfied with his work.

“Tony, come on. Eat.” A plate was pushed into his field of vision. Tony frowned at the mound of steaming eggs, nestled next buttered toast and spiced sausage.

“Not hungry,” he replied, attempting to push it back.

“Tony,” Steve sighed, smacking Tony’s hand slightly with the spatula he was holding.

“Bold move against a man wearing a weaponized gauntlet,” Tony hissed, narrowing his eyes.

He heard a snort from his left, and Tony bit his lip to hide his smile, watching as Steve’s unimpressed gaze slid from him and over to Bucky. “You’re not helping,” the blonde pouted.

Bucky held his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine,” he said. The plate was pushed towards Tony again, metal fingers clicking against the china.

Tony felt his stomach tighten, nose crinkling slightly. “Nope. I’m good,” he responded, patting his stomach.

“Tony, how many times do we have to have this conversation? That pit in your stomach is hunger, not your hatred for the public transit system,” Steve sighed.  

“And how many times do I have to tell you, this conversation is invalid until you ride a 21st century bus.”

“And when have you ever ridden a bus?” Bucky laughed.

“Lost a bet with Happy,” Tony grumbled. “Worst two weeks of my life.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, smile still plastered on his face. “Why am I not even surprised.”

“In my defense,” Tony continued, “I did the math. There was no way I should have lost. I still think it was complete bullshit, but- ”

A piece of toast was jammed into his mouth. “Stop changing the subject,” Steve frowned, unmoved by Tony’s glare as he chewed around the thick toast. “You haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”

Tony ripped the rest of the toast out of his mouth, breathing steadily as the pieces that made it down his throat made his insides clench unhappily. “You know, that’s a breach of privacy,” Tony snapped with a wagging finger. “And I’m pretty sure this constitutes as assault.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have to keep tabs on you if you took care of yourself. Or force feed you for that matter.”

Brown eyes met blue, both unwavering – an old western showdown just shy of a few guns.

Bucky sighed, not even looking up from the tablet be had bent over to read. “Tony, don't kid yourself here. You know you’re going to lose this one.”

Tony frowned, turning to face the other man, but he knew he was right. He wasn’t making it out of this kitchen without a miracle. He dragged his eyes back to his plate, blatantly ignoring the no doubt smug look on Steve’s face as he mushed some eggs together on his fork, shoving it into his mouth before he could talk himself out of it.

It hurt less than the toast, but the smell that remained had him pinching his nose, slamming his eyes shut as he fought through the waves of nausea. He coughed slightly into his hands, but dutifully continued to soldier on through the breakfast, disappointed that Steve didn’t take his eyes off him once, making sure that he fully participated in what Steve liked to call the ‘Clean Plate Club’.

“Now, was that so hard?” Steve asked, finally taking the plate away to be cleaned.

_Yes._

Tony just huffed, slipping out of his chair. “Well, the toast was a little burnt, so I’m going to go with, yes?”

Bucky’s laughing was probably the only was he survived Steve’s icy look. Tony just offered a flirty wave in return, hopping off his chair as he headed down to the lab. He wasn’t stopped by another super soldier roadblock, so Tony deemed that he was safe. At least until lunch rolled around.

He stepped into the elevator, muttering a quick “Lab, please,” to JARVIS before finally taking his gauntlet off. He smiled, thinking of him eating his entire breakfast with it on. _Domestic superheroes._ Who would've thought?

The lab didn’t offer as much of a distraction as it usually did. Tony idly poked and prodded at a few different projects, but found himself drifting, never truly losing himself in his work.

When the Avengers alarm finally went off, Tony nearly whooped in excitement, scrambling to put on his suit, desperate for _anything_ to do.

Arriving on the scene, Tony took in the clunky robots trying to break through some country’s embassy. Tony rolled his eyes, guessing this to be the work of Doom. Leave it to the guy to try and actively start wars with different countries without putting in the work of an invasion. Usually, this wouldn’t be a situation for his team, but he was definitely not complaining.

He could hear Steve barking out orders into the comms, and Tony felt himself falling into step. There were days where he still wanted to push against the system, to go off and do his own thing, but he’d grown accustomed to the whole _team_ thing. And while Tony would never admit it, it was nice having Steve’s comforting voice in his ear, always at his side.

After getting in a few scans, weak structural points blared all across his HUD. Tony snorted; poor craftsmanship for sure. They’d have this wrapped up by dinner for sure.

The battle continued and Tony found himself looping gracefully through the air. Sure, he dropped in for a few civilian pickups here, threw in a dash of air support there, but not much more. It wasn’t surprising; with a team as highly trained as them, they definitely had all there bases covered, and then some. He found he didn’t mind though, just basking in the chance for some flying time, looking down at his team, making sure they were covered.

When JARVIS alerted him of a robot that was slipping through the alley, as if trying to dodge the fight that was coming to a close, Tony grinned, shooting over to it. After a probably overdramatic landing, he straightened up, meeting the charging robot with a glowing gauntlet.

“Nice try.” He pulsed, waiting for the familiar whine of his repulsor. And then.  

Nothing.

 Tony frowned, trying again, but nothing came out.

“What the- ”

He looked down at the gauntlet, JARVIS immediately running a scan on suit part. Was it a glitch? This shouldn’t be happening.

When he heard a faint whine, Tony almost sighed, until he realized it wasn’t coming from his suit. It was coming from the robot that he intended to duel.

“Tony!”

A heavy weight slammed into his left right as a beam shot from the robot, down the alleyway. Tony reeled, barely getting his bearings back before the weight was gone – _Bucky –_ and the man was jumping on top of the dumpster to the head of the robot, jamming his metal arm down through the hull, yanking up a handful of wiring.

The robot fizzled, lights blinking off before it tipped over, falling still. Bucky hopped down just as gracefully as he’d gotten on, muttering a quick “last one down” into the comm, before turning back to Tony.

“What the hell was that?” Bucky demanded.

Tony lifted his visor, looking down at his armored hands. “I- I don’t… JARVIS?”

“There is an insufficient amount of power to the left flank, Sir.”

“What? That doesn’t make- ”

“Are you alright?” Tony turned, seeing a breathless Steve run up to him. “You hit?” Gloved hands traveled over the suit, looking for the same problem Tony was.

“Check his head,” Bucky interjected, closing in from Tony on the over side.

“Get off,” Tony grumbled. “I’m _fine.”_

“Oh, so you weren’t just about to get blasted by the B-list robot?”

“Maybe I was just checking your reflexes.”

 _Ouch, wrong move,_ Tony thought to himself as he was met with a pair of steely glares.

“Relax,” Tony said with a roll of his eyes. “It was just a glitch in the suit. Nothing major.”

Bucky frowned. “Since when does the suit get glitches?”

“This happening in the middle of a fight seems pretty major.” Steve also pressed.

“You’re overreacting,” Tony grit out. “Besides, Klondike was here to save my ass. I’ll go back to the lab and open her up. Fix the problem, lickety-split.”

They were still frowning, deep worry lines etches into their faces, and Tony wanted nothing more to rub them gone. He wasn’t worth all that worry. He was fine.

“If you say so,” Steve murmured, as if he wasn’t sure he agreed with the words spilling out of his mouth.

“I do,” Tony replied, trying to give the pair a winning smile. “It’ll be fixed in no time.”

At least that’s what he thought. Now, staring into the glove, hours after cleanup, debrief, and dinner, Tony was at a loss. He knew this suit inside and out, how hard was it to find a simple tick? Well, it could have been hours later. Tony wasn’t really sure. He was sporting a rather major migraine, only managing a few glances at the suit before he was rubbing at his head with his hands.

“You still up?”

Tony spun around in his chair, being met with Bruce, tea cradled in his hands, leaning against the door jamb of the lab.

“Yeah,” Tony sighed. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep until I figure out what’s wrong with this thing.”

“Ah, yes,” Bruce responded, walking over to the table. “Bucky mentioned something about a problem with the suit.” Tony assumed it had been at some point over dinner – Hulk wasn’t needed for this call today, but he always liked hearing about it afterward, checking if his doctoring was needed.

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know how. I’ve been staring at this damn thing for hours and I’ve got nothing. No reason for the power to have cut off mid fight.”

Bruce hummed. “Maybe you need another set of eyes.”

Tony got up, stumbling slightly, as Bruce took his spot leaning over the metal hand. While this was definitely not Bruce’s strong suit, over the course of living with the man, Bruce would come and watch him work on the suit. “ _I just find it generally fascinating, watching you work,”_ Bruce mentioned. “ _And it gets me out of my own head. Watching you bumble about for a few hours – you’d be surprised how often that gives me the inspiration I need.”_

And being the brilliant man that he already is, Bruce easily picked up on the workings of the suit. It was a testament of how much he trusted Bruce, letting the man pour over it for hours with him, knowing full well, that Bruce was just there for the enjoyment of it. Just there for the complexity and the excitement of it. Just like Tony was.

“Well, there’s your problem,” Bruce stated.

“What?”

“These cables here,” Bruce murmured. “They’re crossed. You were using this as an output for power, not input.”

Tony frowned, leaning over Bruce’s shoulder. “That can’t be right,” he replied, glaring down at the wires. But it was right. Sure enough, the configuration he was met with was messy, sloppy even. “How did this happen?”

Bruce just shrugged. “Just a simple misplacement. It happens.”

“ _No_ , it doesn’t. Not with me. Bruce, I’m the only one who had access to this. I can’t imagine I would fall as low as to mixing wires. I worked on this this morning, and it was fine!”

“Actually, Sir, that was Tuesday.”

_Tuesday?_

“It’s not still Tuesday?”

Bruce shook his head slowly. “It’s Thursday, Tony. You know that.”

Tony groaned, putting his head in his hands. God, his head hurts.

“Did you take something for the pain?”

“What?”

Bruce pulled his hands away from his face. “You said your head hurts.”

“I did?”

Bruce frowned, wiping at Tony’s damp forehead. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head in the fight today?”

“Ugh, not you too,” Tony snapped, pulling out of Bruce’s grasp. “No, I did not hit my head. I’m just need a nice warm bath.”

“Tony, you hate baths.”

_Maybe I can’t trust myself to stand in the shower._

“Yeah, I know, I know. Maybe I just need to lie down.”

Bruce was frowning at him, brow furrowed as he adjusted his glasses. Tony knew that look. It was the same look that Tony got when he peered under the front hood or a car. A calculating, deconstructing gaze.

“I think I should give you a quick scan first. Make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“Bruce, I didn’t hit my head. Leave me alone,” Tony grumbled stumbling out of his chair, ignoring the pain that came rushing into his head.

“Tony, you aren’t always the most forthcoming with your injuries. Let me just check for bumps, and you’ll be on your- ”

Tony saw hands reaching out for him, so he dipped quickly to the left – well he attempted too, clipping the lab table hard against his hip.

Jesus, he needed to lay down. He needed sleep. That’s all it was. Even Einstein needed sleep. God, was he sweating?

Tony blinked, warm droplets stinging his eyes. He rubbed at his face, shaking his head from side to side and – _wow, that wasn’t a good idea._

“Tony? Tony, come on, you need to sit down.”

“No, no I’m- ” he couldn’t finish. It was so hot and he couldn’t breathe. He was in the desert, stumbling through the sand, the heat pouring around from every direction, not a shadow in sight. It was consuming, suffocating at every step.

_Where’s Rhodey?_

Rhodey would come. Rhodey would save him.

“What? Tony, he’s on base. He hasn’t been here in weeks.”

_What?_

Tony snapped his eyes open. Did he close them? There were cars here. There were no cars in the desert. Only sand. Just sand.

Something was dripping on the floor. Blood? No. Sweat. Both?

A hand on his shoulder. “Tony?”

Tony whipped around, ready for a fight.

Bruce. _Safe._

“Tony, you’re scaring me.”

Tony opened his mouth. _I’m fine,_ he wanted to say. _I’ll be alright._ But it didn’t come. What did come was a burning acid, like he was breathing fire. Tony nearly crumpled over, his glossy eyes barely picking up the bile that dripping to the floor under him.

“ _Jesus,_ Tony. JARVIS, get a- Tony!”

Bright lights. Burning like the sun. Maybe it was the sun. _No,_ he thought. _You’re not there._

Then came the darkness. A shadow, leaning over him. He could hear, but he was so far away, like he was drifting below the surface.

The darkness was creeping again, but it wasn’t the shadow. No, it was the void, come down from space to finally swallow him whole. He wanted to scream, to shout, to do anything. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t stop it. Not this time.

_“TONY!”_

It was all around him now, the dark. The endless night. So Tony did what he did last time. He fell. And then there was nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve stared at his hands, twisting his knuckles between his fingers. He could hear Bruce puttering around a few feet in front on him, but he forced himself not to look, not wanting to see him leaning over the small lump on the bed.

Instead, he took in the room he was in, frowning slightly. It was the first time he’d ever been in Tony’s room, but he immediately didn’t like it. It was impersonal, almost bare. It looked quite similar to that of the room he walked into all those years ago when he first moved into the tower.

There were no pictures on any of the dressers or walls, just a simple painting on the far wall that screamed of Pepper’s doing. A quick glance in Tony’s closest showed neat lines of tailored clothes, not a shirt out of place. The only evidence of Tony actually living there was a small end table that Tony pushed up to the corner of his bed that was overflowing with scraps of tech.

_“It’s not junk, Steve! They’re bits of precious metal, waiting to be freed from their cocoon into the beautiful butterflies that are!”_

Steve smiled at the memory. Tony had only been running on about two hours of sleep, but Steve liked to think that his answer wouldn’t change even if he was running at full capacity. Leave it to Tony Stark to write soliloquies to metal.

Speaking of, Steve had yet again found himself pacing closer to the bed, where the frazzled engineer lay. He couldn’t see Tony from this angle, Bruce’s form looming over him, but he could hear his breathing. Barely steady, but that was enough from Steve right now.

He looked down, hands grabbing at the sheets below him. Pure silk, with a crazy thread count to go along with it, if he had to guess. The frown was back; he could feel muscles pulling on his face. Those sheets, that closet, this room.  Steve hated it. And he hated it, because he knew Tony hated it as well.

He knew Tony liked soft things: worn, and warm.

He knew because when they first got Bucky back, Tony was always in his room after Bucky had an episode. Offering food, hot tea, or just shoulder when Steve felt himself crumbling under the weight of the current situation. Tony would sit with him for hours, not saying much, just a warm presence by his side until one of them drifted off. It was usually Tony, the man never got enough sleep, and Steve would just bundle the small man in a blanket, depositing him softly into Steve’s bed. The next morning, when Steve went to wake the man with a fresh cup of coffee, the sight that he was met with would be ingrained into his brain for years. He could barely even see Tony, only a small mop of brown hair peeking out from where the man had cocooned himself in a mound of blankets. Steve had tried to wake him, but the man just grumbled, pushing his face farther into the sheets.

Steve took one final look at the man before he was out the door, dragging Bucky with him, to the closest department store. _T-shirt sheets_ is what the call them - _N_ _o,_ not Jersey Sheets. He refused to acknowledge that anything that great would bare any relation to Jersey. Steve had stumbled on them when he was first delving through the world of 21st century stores. He’d gotten them because they were durable and pretty cheap – he still wasn’t used to the whole ‘frivolous spending’ thing. They were nice, and always felt good after a wash, which was enough for Steve. But Tony seemed to _love_ them. Which is why he and Bucky went out and bought a set for the small cot he had set up in his lab.  

He never did tell Tony that he changed the sheets, but he didn’t doubt that Tony already knew. He always knew. But, it still warmed his heart every time he stumbled into the lab to find a snoozing Tony drooling into his pillow, clutching to the sheets like a lifeline.

That was when Steve first picked up on it, the pieces fitting together quickly after that. While originally, when the team first came together under one roof, Tony was always in a suit, whether it was metal or Prada, the more comfortable he got with them, the more walls he brought down.

Like despite a closet bigger than an office, Tony only manages to cycle through the same old band t-shirts, covered in holes and stains. Sometimes soft pants, while almost being swallowed by a large hoodie – mainly Rhodey’s – but Steve always felt a wave of satisfaction curl low in his gut when Tony walked by swamped in one of his or Bucky’s.

 _Must have gotten mixed in to my laundry,_ Tony always said. _I’ll put it back._

 _Put it back my ass,_ Steve thought. Tony was a grade-A clothes thief – one that Steve was more than happy to lose a few sweatshirts too. He always managed to look better in them anyway. He looked good in anything.

Steve had seen him padding around the communal floor in brightly colored fuzzy socks a few times. Everyone assumed that Natasha had gotten them for Tony as a gag gift, but Steve wasn’t so sure anymore. Tony seemed to like them, and when he wasn’t wearing them, he was always burying his feet under couch cushions, tucking them under him, or even shoving them under others’ thighs.

Steve knew there was also a blanket, tucked under some pillows in the lab, as if to hide it from wandering eyes, only making an appearance when Tony slept. A lot of times, it wasn't even wrapped around him, just ending up lying next to his pillow for Tony to bury his face in. He asked Pepper about it once, watching as a sad smile pulled at the corners of her lips.

_“His butler, Jarvis, and his wife, Anna, were always around when Tony was growing up. Anna made the blanket for Tony, giving it to him the day he left for college. ‘A little piece of home’ to carry with him, she said. Tony told me once when he was drunk that sometimes when he presses his face into it, he can still smell freshly baked cookies.”_

Steve would never mention it to Tony, but he knew a defense mechanism when he saw on. Being surrounded by all that warmth and comfort – that was Tony’s projection of _safety._ Being able to see him in that state, completely at ease, with all of his shields down, was a true testament to how far the team had come. How close they’d come.

But, the rest of Tony’s room showed how far they had yet to go. The silk sheets, the rows of ties – they were all part of a persona that Steve hated. The showman. _The circus act._ It wasn’t so much the personality that Tony took on, no. Seeing Tony like that always managed to take his breath away; how he could just walk into a room, and gravity would seem to shift, all eyes turning to watch him dominate the space. It was like watching a fire – get too close and be met with sharp bites and burns, but stare look enough at it to see it was a dance, mesmerizing and intoxicating.

No, it wasn’t Tony. It was everyone else.

It was the expectation.

The unspoken rule that Tony was meant to be like this. The lone-shark, preying in both the boardroom and the bedroom.

 _He’s worth so much more._ Why can’t they see that?

_“Don’t get your panties in a twist. It’s been a long time since I’ve cared what people thought about me. If they peg me as an asshole, might as well give them a good show, right, Cap?”_

Steve clenched his fists at the memory, similarly to the way he cracked his way through a few tumblers, watching as Tony darted around the gala, clapping firm hands on shoulders of the men and giving hollow laughs to the women.

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

Steve startled, following the sound, looking over to the back corner that Bucky was pressed into, metal fingers incessantly hitting against the dresser top.

That wasn’t a good sign. Bucky, with his history, had grown more than accustomed to staying still for hours on end. It was a habit that Steve had picked up on – if Bucky didn’t have to be moving, he wouldn’t, remaining statuesque. It was worrying in the first few months of Bucky living at the tower, because he would always be standing, lurking in the shadows and always tensed for action, like he was waiting for a fight. Now though, it reminded Steve of when they were kids. Bucky would sprawl out onto multiple pieces of furniture, and idly lay the day away.

It was a similar trait he saw in Clint, no surprise there, but the archer tended to enjoy tucking himself into small spaces instead. Their comfortability may come from different spectrums, but they carried the same stillness with them.

Steve remembered once when the pair had dragged the entire team into a field. Bucky on one side, Clint on the other, the rest of them smack dab in the middle – “ _for judging”,_ Clint whined, when Natasha tried to put up a fight. It was a competition; it _was always_ a competition with them. Steve wasn’t sure who’s bright idea it originally was, but Bucky and Clint had decided to continue on the their quest to name the ‘World’s Best Sniper’; each man lay hidden on either side of the field with a single paintball pellet in the chamber. The game had a simple objective – find the other one before they find you.

They’d sat there for hours, listening to the pair of them bicker over the comms, neither of them shooting on the off chance they’d miss their shot. Steve found he didn’t mind, however, as halfway through, Tony had drifted off, head in his lap. It was delightedly enjoyable later on when he got to brag to Bucky that he’d spent the whole afternoon playing with Tony’s hair as the man curled up against him like a kitten, while Bucky laid in a pile of mud, unmoving for hours. The only reason their stalemate ended was by Bucky snarking some inappropriate jokes until he caught Clint’s shoulders shaking from laughter in his scope.

Bucky won. Clint was not pleased.

So it was definitely unusual to see Bucky like this, jittery and unfocused, like he wasn’t even sure what to do with his hands.

“You okay?” Steve couldn’t help but ask.

Bucky shot him a look. ‘ _You already know the answer, so why the hell ask’,_ it seemed to say. “Fine,” was all the response he actually got.

“He’ll be alright. Probably just needs a good sleep.”

Platitudes. That’s all they were; they both knew it.

They were both there, having rushed down to the lab at the frantic alert from JARVIS. They’d seen Bruce cradling an unconscious Tony, the smaller brunette drenched in sweat and vomit.

Something was very wrong.

“Well?” Bucky asked.

But the question was directed towards Bruce, who was finally standing back from Tony. Now with a clear view, Tony looked even smaller, blankets tucked tightly against his side.

“No surprises here,” Bruce replied, taking his glasses off to clean them. “He’s dehydrated and fatigued. Running on barely enough sleep and a poor diet is enough for any body to fall to infection. He’s got a mild fever, and that cough is still there. My guess is that he’s in for a few days with a nasty flu. Nothing to be too concerned about.”

Steve felt the tension leave his body. “That’s it?”

Bruce shrugged. “From what I can tell right now. Flus can get pretty severe, and the ball’s definitely not in his corner with that immune system he’s working with, but I don’t think it’s much more than that. A few days on bed rest with some cough drops and warm tea and he should be fine.”

Steve nodded. “Thanks, Bruce. Go get some sleep. We’ll stay with him.”

He could hear Bruce leaving, but Steve only had eyes for one man. Tony frowned in his sleep, murmuring incoherently before kicking his legs out wildly, knocking all the blankets off him.

Bucky huffed, immediately reaching down to readjust the blankets over him. “Always fightin’, aren’t ya?” Bucky asked with a rueful smile.

Steve made a mental note to pick up new sheets for Tony. The _right_ sheets, reputation be damned.

“Wipe that look from your face. You’re going to get frown lines.”

Steve let himself he dragged into a familiar embrace, breathing in the scent that still remained decades later.

“He’ll be fine. He just needs a proper looking after.”

Steve smiled. “And why do I get the feeling that I’ll be doing all the work?”

Bucky, the asshole, just shrugged. “You probably will. I’m just here for entertainment value.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

Bucky tangled their fingers together, pulling Steve over to the couch across the room. “Come on,” he said, yanking at Steve’s arm until he got the message to flop down against his side. “Let’s get some shut eye before our resident genius wakes up. Something tells me he’s not gonna be a happy camper.”

Steve just hummed, burrowing himself into Bucky’s shoulder, and drifted.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony woke with a start.

Not that anyone would be able to tell. Tony had mastered the art of going from zero to a hundred without detection ever since Afghanistan. It was a safety net; a way to check his surroundings without alerting any hostile forces.

He knew he wasn’t alone by the murmuring of voices, but Tony couldn’t distinguish what they were saying. Shifting slightly, Tony could feel the plush mattress he was on, a deep breath revealing nothing but his own scent. His room. Safe.

Tony shuddered as his legs slipped around in the silk sheets. They were almost constricting, like water flowing over him, surrounding him, suffocating and – _no._ He wasn’t there. He was safe in his room.

“Tony?”

_Steve._

Tony couldn’t help the long breath that whooshed out of him as he sank further into the bed. Steve was here. He was _definitely_ safe. Steve would take care of him.

A hand brushed through his hair, and Tony could feel himself turning into putty as strong digits started to soothe away a pounding headache.

“Are you awake?”

Tony furrowed his brow. Part of him knew he shouldn’t lie to Steve, but his hand felt so good, and the more he laid here, the more he realized he didn’t feel too hot, and wouldn’t mind shutting out the world for a few more hours. With Steve with him, he knew it was probably the only time his subconscious would let him drift back off.

So he opted not to respond.

Until a pillow smacked his chest and he couldn’t help but jolt.

 _“Bucky,”_ Steve hissed.

“What, you and I both know he’s faking.”

“Am not,” Tony grumbled, his voice sounding like gears grating together, head moving around to try and find where Steve’s hand slipped had off too.

A heavy sigh. Steve’s. A familiar gesture that Tony always thought of as the starting gun to an argument between him and Bucky.

“Nice try,” Bucky continued. “Get those eyes open. You’ve got some explaining to do and these fluids aren’t going to drink themselves.”

Tony relented, cracking an eye open, being met with the pair looking down at him, Bucky on his left, Steve on his right. Steve, with his _‘I’m concerned’_ eyes and Bucky, with his _‘if I squint hard enough it’ll look like I’m angry not worried’_ ones.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked.

Tony stared at the both of them, before grasping the corner of the pillow on his chest and cuffing Bucky on the side of the head.

He heard a small _‘oomph’_ as Bucky lost his balance and toppled off the bed.

“Yeah, you’ll live,” Steve snickered, helping Tony into a sitting position. Tony tried to respond, but Steve held a glass up to his lips, tilting Tony’s head back slightly for cool water to slide down his abused throat.

Tony hummed his thanks, eyes sliding back over to Bucky, watching as the man pouted at him from the floor. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubble up in his chest, nor could he stop as it changed to hacking coughs and gags.

Bucky was back at his side in an instant, aiding Tony to lean over, rubbing a soothing hand on his back as Steve held a tissue up to his mouth, catching the mucus that splattered out. The attack eventually subsided, but Bucky refused to let go, instead pulling Tony to rest against his chest as Steve wiped his mouth and dabbed and his forehead with a cool washcloth.

“Bruce has some medicine here for you to take,” Steve murmured, keeping his voice soft.

“Medicine?”

“You’ve got a pretty nasty flu. Or do you not remember collapsing in the lab last night?”

He didn’t, not fully. But they didn’t need to know that.

“You can’t keep doing this, Tones. You gotta learn to take care of yourself. I swear, you’re just as bad as Stevie,” Bucky added, the comforting rumble from his chest almost enough to put Tony back to sleep.

“It’ll pass,” Tony replied, unhappily. Sick? He didn’t have time for sick. Of course, that would explain the past few days, maybe even weeks. He’d been off his A-game for sure. A few sufferable days in bed would be worth it if he could get back on track. Besides, having been living in the tower with some super human roommates, Tony knew he was in for some pampering.

Tony wasn’t sure if it was due to the terrors that he had to fight through living with such a frail body or just because he generally _cared,_ but Steve always seemed to go mental when one of the teammates got sick. The man was always such a mother hen with battle related injuries, but sickness was a different matter entirely. It was days upon days of meals from scratch, blanket tucking, nervous pacing and just plain coddling.

Tony, despite constantly putting on a tough and disapproving front, secretly loved those moments. It was nice to pretend for a little while. That Steve could be his. Tony wondered how Bucky would fit into the mix, as he hadn’t been around long enough to get the full sniffle-ridden Avenger experience. By the way his flesh hand slowly kneaded into Tony’s shoulder, prospects were very promising.

“It could’ve passed a long time ago if you didn’t try and ignore it,” Steve said with a frown. “You really threw us through the ringer yesterday.”

“Yeah, Bruce is pretty pissed at you,” Bucky agreed.

Tony hummed again, smiling slightly. “Bruce is always pissed at me.”

“That’s not an accomplishment,” Steve retorted.

“Well, Hulk hasn’t decided to use me as a toothpick yet, so if that’s not an accomplishment, then I don’t know what is.”  

Bucky snorted.

“You’re still pretty warm,” Steve murmured, putting a hand against, Tony’s forehead. “Maybe we should take you to the hospital.”

“For a cold? Yeah, I’ll pass.”

“Colds can be pretty serious, Tony,” Steve frowned.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine, mother. You don’t have to hover so much.”

“What kind of Captain would I be if I didn’t look after one of my soldiers,” Steve replied. “My teammate’s wellbeing is important to me.”

Tony flinched.

_Teammate._

Was that all he was?

Sure, he and Steve had a less than stellar start, and no way in hell did Steve feel the same way he did, but they were at least friends, right?

No, Steve was his friend. He _had_ to be. Steve hugs him sometimes and friends hug each other. Rhodey taught him that.

“And Steve’s wellbeing is important to me, so you’re not leaving this bed until you’re back to tip-top shape.”

And God, _Bucky._ Of course he was only here for Steve. 

That was understandable. Bucky was constantly under the impression that he owed his life to Steve, despite both his and Tony’s arguments.

God, what was he _doing?_ Sitting here between the two of them, soaking up the attention like a sponge. Thinking he could weasel his way in for a piece for himself. Honestly, he should have known better.

“Yeah, well, I think I can handle it from here,” Tony mumbled, playing with his hands, unable to meet either gaze.

He heard Bucky snort from behind him. “Please. I’ve seen enough evidence of you ‘handling things’. That alone is more reason for us to stay.”

“Agreed,” Steve added, pulling his phone out of his pocket, eyes shining as the screen brightened.

“That Pepper?” Bucky asked, the question floating right by Tony’s ear.

“Yeah, she’ll take them,” Steve replied.

“Take what?” Tony couldn’t help but ask.

“Our reservations,” Steve sighed distractedly as he tucked blankets tighter around Tony’s ankles.

Tony coughed into his elbow, ribcage shaking. “For what?” he croaked, stiffening under Bucky’s soothing touch.

“The MoMa,” Bucky answered, while Steve tried to talk over him. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

Tony clamped his teeth under the flesh of his lip. The MoMa. Tony had listened to Steve go on and on for weeks about that place. Some artist with some name that Tony never learned was having a showing there – apparently he was ‘all the rage this season.’ Pepper’s words, not his. But he must have been somewhat talented as the tickets to see his pieces had a wait list of almost a month.

Tony had tried to let Steve call the museum for a private showing – if they wouldn’t do it for Tony Stark, there was no way that they would say no to Captain America.

But Steve had shot him down every time. Said that the name of Captain America shouldn’t be used for his own personal gain. Tony would have been mad if his heart hadn’t clenched at how _good_ he was.

So instead, Steve had put his and Bucky’s name on the wait list like an everyday American, waiting day after day for a confirmation email.

“You got tickets?”

Steve smiled at him. _See, Steve? I pay attention._ Tony silently preened before a rotten taste flooded his mouth as he felt Bucky shift next to him. _Get it together, Stark._

“Yeah, lucky us,” Bucky grumbled. “This guy’s been driving me nuts talking about it, and when we finally get tickets, we can’t even go. I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he finished with a slight chuckle.

“You can’t go?” Tony questioned.

Steve shrugged, hand scratching at the back of his head. “They’re for today only, and well,” he broke off, gesturing to Tony in the bed.

Oh. _Oh._

They weren’t going because of him.

_“What kind of Captain would I be if I didn’t look after one of my soldiers?”_

“But,” Tony tried to fight, but he honestly he couldn’t think of anything to say. There wasn’t anything he _could_ say.

How many other times had this happened? How many times had Tony butt his head into their life, mistaking comradery for responsibility?

All those lunch outings – _“Tony you need to eat more.”_

All of those times he’d been swaddled in blankets, pulled against a firm chest – _“This is what happens when you don’t get enough sleep, Tony.”_

Every time they slumped lazily on the couch in his lab – _“Someone’s got to make sure nothing blows up, Tony.”_

Whenever strong hands pressed deep into his aching muscles – _“Can’t have Iron Man locking up on us, can we?”_

Was any of it real? Or was he just another obligation, a check mark on a to-do list.

“Don’t worry about it. They won’t go to waste; Pepper’s going to take them.” Steve’s voice filtered through the freight train of thoughts pounding through his skull.

Sure. Don’t worry about it. This time. _What about next time?_

How long are they going to put up with this, with him? How long before Steve gets too exasperated, Bucky gets too frustrated? How long before he breaks them?

Tony remembered his parents, each year he grew older was another step they’d take apart. It wasn’t them, no. It was him. It was always him. It was _always_ his fault.

_“You think you’re so clever, boy. Think what you’ve built is impressive, do you? Let me ask you this. How many things did you have to break to get there? How many times do I have to remind you? You don’t create, you break.”_

He couldn’t do it again. Couldn’t do it to _them._

The home that he’d constructed in his delusions, big enough to fit three, crumbled in his head. He needed to remove himself from the equation, ripping himself away like a Band-Aid.

It would be better this way, in the long run. They’d be happier. Steve and Bucky had thwarted wars, governments, even _time_ to be together. What could Tony offer them except a chance to finally be happy?

And he’d learned a long time ago that in order to do so, he had to go.

Okay.

“Okay, what?”

Tony’s head snapped back up to meet Steve’s questioning gaze. So open, so trusting.

Not for long.

“Call Pepper. You’re going to that show.”

Steve crossed his arms, almost as if he was sensing the fight coming. “No, we’re staying with you. Someone’s got to take care of you.”

“Yeah, and did you even ask me if I wanted that to be you?”

Tony felt Bucky stiffen underneath him. Tony took that as a chance to slide away from him and press against the cold, unforgiving headboard. Problem was now he had to look Bucky in the eyes as well.

“What’s all this about?” Bucky asked, brow furrowing.

His flesh hand went up to press against Tony’s forehead, but the smaller brunette slapped it back down. “It’s exactly what it is. I don’t need you two to coddle me. I can take care of myself.”

Bucky scoffed, while Steve replied, “Tony, you were passed out in your own vomit when we found you. What would you call that?”

“Uh, a revival of my teenage years?”

“This isn’t a joke, Tony,” Steve snapped suddenly. “You had us all terrified!”

“News flash, Rogers, sometimes colds just happen.”

Tony could barely held it together when he saw Steve flinch at him saying ‘ _Rogers’._ The last time Steve had been referred to that, Tony still had a glowing blue chest and an alcohol problem.

Bucky finally got off the bed to stand next to Steve. As he always would. “Yeah, they _just happen_ to people who normally take care of themselves,” he countered. “You, on the other hand, were just asking for it. Excuse us for being concerned.”

“Well, don’t,” Tony barked in return. _Please do._ “I don’t need you.” _Yes, I do._ “I don’t need another person hovering over me and controlling my every move. I’ve survived just fine without any help, I sure as hell don’t need it now.”

Steve blinked at him, eyes wide. “Tony, we wouldn’t- ”

“You would. And you do,” Tony cut off. “You tell me when to eat, when to sleep, when to breathe. You’re suffocating me! I’m not going to sit here quietly while it gets exponential just because I have a cough.”

Tony bent down, pretending to hack into his sleeve. Really it was because he couldn’t look at their faces anymore. Steve’s, slowly crumbling into pieces while Bucky’s slowly hardened into stone.

 _This is worth it,_ he thought. _This is for them._

He could hear small noises that meant Steve was stumbling for the right words to say, but Tony pressed on, like the runaway train he was. “I’m not buyin’ what you’re sellin’. And frankly, I don’t need the dramatics that comes with it.”

“I’m gonna go ahead and blame this on the fever,” Bucky hissed, “because you’re not making a lick of sense. Is it that hard for you to swallow your pride, just this once? Jesus, Steve wasn’t even this bad when I took care of him.”

“Yeah, well Steve weighed ninety pounds soaking wet,” Tony said. “I’ve got a little more meat on my bones; I don’t need someone to blow my nose for me.”

“Stop,” Steve whispered, voice low and dangerous.

_Almost there. Finish it. Finish it now, you coward._

“Still a touchy subject? Grow up, Rogers.”

“You don’t know what it was like back then.”

“Key words: back then,” Tony pushed on. “I’m not some wilting flower that’s going to keel over when the wind is gets too strong.”

The resounding crunch was all the warning Tony got before he saw Steve’s phone crumble to pieces in his palm.

A Starkphone. It was supposed to be super soldier proof – it said so on the packaging. He’d had Steve test the durability when it was going through its first test phases, and it had passed with flying colors. Guess he should have tested it when Steve was angry.

All three men stared at the tightened palm, Steve slowly unclenching. Hunks of circuit and glass tumbled on the bed, some remaining as they were depressed so hard that they broke skin, rivulets of blood pouring over them.

“Steve,” Bucky started.

But Steve just clenched his jaw, closing his fist slowly again before making a hasty retreat out of the room, head down to avoid eye contact.

Tony could barely tear his eyes away from the small drops of red that littered his bedspread. It wasn’t worth it, _God,_ this wasn’t worth it. He needed to stop before –

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tony peeled his eyes away from the open door to me met with an icy glare.

 _It’s too late._ Can’t stop now.

Tony gave him a blank look in return. “Didn’t you hear? I’m sick.”

“Don’t be an ass. You know what this kind of shit does to him.”

“I didn’t ask for a runny nose, Barnes.”

“Yeah, but you did ask to pick a fight with Steve,” Bucky snapped back. “You don’t know the _horrors_ we saw on a daily basis – the same ones I saw Steve had to fight through.”

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._

_Keep going._ Funny, that sounded just like Howard.

“I feel for you both, I really do,” Tony drawled, lips twitching into a sneer.  

 _I do, I really do, don’t leave me._  

Bucky flinched. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Hitting all the right buttons until you’ve pushed everyone away.”

“I must not be doing a good job if you’re still here.”

Tony could hear the servos in Bucky’s metal arm whir as he clenched his hands into fists.  “Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” Bucky hissed, walking towards the door. Hand on the door handle, he turned back to face Tony. “We all leave eventually, Stark. Wonder why?”

The door slammed leaving Tony as he should be – cold and alone.

He wondered if he should flip his pillows to try and trap their scents while he could. No – that would just make it harder than it already was.

It was better this way. _Teammate._ That’s who he could be; that’s who he _would_ be.


	6. Chapter 6

“You look awful.”

Tony clenched his jaw, refusing to look up. The only evidence that he’d heard the statement was a fumbling pause in the typing.

“Tony.”

He gave a short hum, still looking down, praying that Pepper would get the hint that he was busy. But she was clever, she was _always_ so clever, and she probably knew that he wasn’t busy at all, just typing the same line of code over and over again. Practiced fingers flying over the keyword, his brain barely able to keep up with the output, until he reached the end of the string, all too just jam on the backspace, waiting until the screen was a blank slate to start over with.

A whiff of perfume was the only warning Tony got of Pepper’s movements, a delicate hand tapping along the side of the monitor until the screen blinked off. Tony caught a quick glance at his harrowed face before the computer took mercy on him, flashing back on to display a screensaver album of vintage hotrods.

“I was working on that.”

“Alright then. Want to tell me what it was that you were working on?”

Tony frowned. He contemplating lying to Pepper, but decided against it. She’d see right through him anyway.

“What do you need?” he replied instead, steering the conversation away.

Gentle fingers tugged at his chin, forcing him to meet Pepper’s gaze. “I don’t _need_ anything. I _want_ to make sure that my friend was okay. It’s a good thing I decided to stop by; you look like a hot mess.”

Tony felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Pepper offered one in response, her thumb shifting along his face to pull his smile higher. “JARVIS said you were feeling better.”

Honestly, he did. Finally, after three grueling days of locking himself away in his room (he didn’t dare try and venture anywhere else in the tower. He didn’t – _couldn’t –_ run into them), full of hot flashes followed by numbing extremities that left him in sleepless agony.

He’d given up the venture of attempting to sleep in his bed after the first night. The sheets were so constricting, and he was just so _hot,_ that he always found his way back to lying on the tiled bathroom floor. Eventually he just pulled off his comforter and grabbed a few pillows and set up shop there.

Of course, that wasn’t much better. Curling around by the toilet was always strategic as he never knew when his stomach would revolt next, but he could never stay there long, the tight space causing pulsing cramps all over his body. He usually ended up rolling around on the floor until he found a comfortable nook until the next wave started. He even got as so desperate once as to try and sleep in the tub. But, every time he closed his eyes, it was if he could hear the water filling up, trying to engulf him.

Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why he had a bathtub installed. He never used it; he couldn’t bear too. But he couldn’t have a bathroom without a tub in it. What would people say? Of course there had to be a bathtub, of course. It didn’t mean anything that he preferred showers, and it’s not like he’ll not _not_ use it, maybe one day, when he feels up for it, and it wasn’t even a big deal, and _there wasn’t anything wrong with him._

Tony thought the only reason he pulled through the sickness was because of who he dubbed ‘The Food God.’ Each day, as Tony would be curled in a ball, lying in his vomit with tremors shaking his body, he’d stumble up to make the trek to his bedroom door. The first time he’d done it, he was in a desperate hunt for any sort of sustenance.

When he’d finally managed to yank the door open, he was shocked to find a stockpile accumulated there for him already. Thermoses filled with warm soup and soothing tea, water bottles, crackers, and a small arsenal of flu supplies. Tony dragged it back into his room, took what he could handle, and placed the near empty tray back out when he was done. Tony preened each of the next days when he found a similar care package outside his door when he woke up.

Tony suspected Bruce. It seemed like a Bruce thing to do.

Usually, he would have been his third choice, but Tony knew who it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t Bucky or Steve. The soup wasn’t homemade from Mrs. Roger’s recipe, and there was no honey bottle that Bucky always kept by his tea. There were no little spoonfuls of homemade jam on the crackers, a healing method Bucky swears by. If fact, the crackers were still in the box, and not arranged on a plate like Steve always did.

And why would they put it together for him? Especially after what he did.

But that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it?

He wanted – _needed –_ them gone, and they were. And Tony suffered through his sickness alone.

It didn’t matter now. He’d woken up this morning feeling better than he had in weeks. Grabbing his leftovers crackers and soup, Tony left his room for the first time in days, immediately retreating to his lab.

“Tony?”

Tony’s eyes snapped back to Pepper. “Sorry, was just thinking.”

“Sometimes I think you do that too much.”

Tony just hummed in response.

Pepper shot him a sad gaze, Tony only replying with a _‘don’t’_ look with his own.

She didn’t.

“You know what?” she said instead. “Since you’re feeling better, how about we go get coffee tomorrow? You look like you could use some fresh air and Lord knows I need it. Natasha was telling me about this new place that opened up. They’ve got blueberry scones,” she added with a smile.

God, he loved her.

Part of him wished he still _loved_ her. It was never uncomplicated, but compared to what he was dealing with now, it seemed like it had been almost easy. He and Pepper made it work; they were a team, that’s what they did. He’d loved every second they’d spent together.

But they both needed something more than just making it work. They needed something that fit. Pepper had brought it up, but Tony couldn’t find a reason to disagree.

He was glad it happened that way. That Pepper finally came to her senses. He couldn’t imagine having a similar conversation with her like he’d just had with Steve and Bucky. Of course, he couldn’t imagine having one with _them,_ but it turns out he could still surprise himself. But he had too, or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. Pepper was smart, a planner. She’d known him long enough to realize that he wouldn’t get her to where she wanted to be. With Steve and Bucky… it was different. They were too _good,_ too hopeful, that they let their perception be clouded from the destruction that was Tony.

But Pepper had seen. But Pepper had also stayed. And he wouldn’t trade that for the world.

“Well, I’m sold,” he finally agreed.

“Good,” said Pepper, pleased. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tony watched her as she glided back to the doors, before she stopped to look at him one last time. “And Tony? When I say I’ll see you tomorrow, that means fresh eyed and with no grease stains. So head upstairs to get something to eat that isn’t old soup, shower, and head to bed. People don’t get over being sick just to go through the whole process again.”

Tony shot him a grin and a mock salute. “You got it. Will that be all, Ms. Potts?”

“That will be all, Mr. Stark.”

He watched the door she’d left out of for a few minutes before standing up, bones cracking as he went. It would do him no good to ignore her requests. Besides, this might be the first night that he could sleep through till morning.

He sighed loudly, leaving the lab, stumbling down the hall, thumping a fist his aching chest a few times.

He pondered what might be a safe meal for him as he walked into the kitchen, when all of a sudden, he was rearing back as fear engulfed him, leaving him like a deer in headlights.

Of course. _Of course_ it’s him. Why wouldn’t he be here? It’s past dinner, of course he would stay to wash the dishes ( _“No machine is going to get me a better clean than my own damn hands, Tony.”)_

Pepper probably knew he was up here. She absolutely did. Damn her.

Tony knew that Steve knew it was him who was in the kitchen with him. He could see his shoulders bunch, muscles tightening under the thin shirt. Steve didn’t stop his washing, but his movements were slower now. He placed a clean dish in the drying rack almost silently, as if he was trying to keep from spooking a wild animal.

Tony gnawed on his lower lip. _What do I do?!_

He hadn’t seen or spoken to Steve since last week – since what he now deemed ‘The Incident.’ What would he say, what _could_ he say? If Steve was lurking about, Tony just prayed that Bucky wasn’t around either. Seeing one of them was hard enough.

Tony found himself doing the same as Steve, making slow, deliberate motions over to the coffee maker, pressings his preferences into well-worn buttons with one hand, while the other grabbing a mug and slipping it into place. He deliberately ignored the feeling of Steve’s gaze on him.

The kitchen filled with sounds of dripping coffee and sponge against ceramic.

“You look better.”

The words were quiet, but Tony still found himself startling.

“Yeah,” he ground out, clearing his throat. “Just needed a few good nights’ sleep. (Or none for that matter, but who’s counting. It didn’t matter; he’d catch up later.)

“That’s good,” Steve responded evenly.

Tony gripped hands around a freshly filled mug, and in an act of daring, flicked his view over to Steve’s form.

It was a mistake. Blue eyes bored right back into his.

Steve just kept looking at him, but Tony found he couldn’t pull his eyes away either, even though his brain was screaming at him: _leave, leave, leave!_ It was like watching a car wreck in slow motion.

“Here. You need to eat someth- ,” Steve said suddenly, only to cut himself off, a flurry of emotion flashing across his face, too quick for Tony to comprehend. “I mean,” he corrected, “would you like something to eat? Bruce made some stir-fry.”

Tony’s chest constricted while a hard lump formed in the bottom of his throat.  

_“You tell me when to eat, when to sleep, when to breathe. You’re suffocating me!”_

“No thanks. I ate with Pepper.”

Steve nodded slightly, breaking away from Tony’s gaze. “Okay,” he might have said. It was so soft, Tony didn’t know if he’d made it up or not.

Tony bit his lip to stop from screaming.

Steve knew he was lying. But usually when he knew, Steve would make a face like he’d bitten into something rotten, pushing back at Tony until he got the answer he already knew was the truth. But this? Hopeless acceptance? It made Tony want to throw himself at Steve’s feet and beg for forgiveness.

“Yep,” Tony continued, although who he was bothering to convince with his lie was beyond him. “Just needed a little pick-me-up.”

Steve didn’t reply, moving on to drying the silverware.

“I should probably head on back down.” He knew he was babbling at this point, but he couldn’t help it. Tony backed away slowly, watching Steve’s back the whole time. “Got to go finish that… thing,” he added, pointing down the hall. It didn’t matter. Steve wasn’t looking. “I’m just gonna… yeah. Lab.”

And with that, he dashed out of the kitchen, ignoring the burning coffee that sloshed over the sides of his mug. He didn’t stop running until he was in back in his shop, his mind subconsciously choosing his safehaven. His back slammed against a glass wall and feet slipped out from under him, his heart threatening to break out from his rib cage.

That… did not go well.

 _One step at a time,_ he tried to tell himself.

What steps? There were no steps. He’d gone and ripped up years of friendship, right down to the foundations. There wasn’t any way to build that back up.

_I did this._

Tony placed his mug on the ground – it was almost empty anyway – and stood up, as if on auto-pilot, and worked his way over to his chair. He flopped down into it, grasping his head between his hands, yanking at his hair.

He couldn’t go to sleep now. Not after that.

“Please tell me you have something for me, JARVIS. Anything,” he mumbled into his hands.

“As a matter of fact, I do, Sir.”

Tony’s head snapped up immediately, turning to the closest screen. “It seems we’ve got a hit from our patient list. A Mr. Brent Carlisle made a purchase with his credit card in Estes Park, Colorado."

Tony’s fingers flew across the keyboard, easily tracking the payment. Although there wasn’t any available camera footage of the curio show that Brent had stopped at, it was a viable lead. More than enough for them to check it out.

Ever since the shitstorm by the name of Aldrich Killian, Tony and JARVIS have been sifting through all of AIM’s data - one of the most valuable findings being a list of current patient lists for Extremis. While Tony had kicked ass and had saved the day, he wasn’t sure on how far Killian’s web stretched before he intervened. So began the task of dutifully going down the active patient list, checking them off one by one.

There was no way to be sure who got a full dosage of the virus before Tony swooped in, and believe it or not, ex-military people were hard to track. Tony had JARVIS keep an ongoing trace for any activity for any name on the list. They’d get a hit, follow the lead to the source, and distribute the vaccine if necessary.

Luckily for them, most of the people they’d been able to track down had been clean, Killian not able to mass distribute Extremis. However, that was no reason to stay idle. All it took was them to turn their gaze for one second, and the next, someone’s blowing up a town square.

“Who else is in the tower?”

“It seems we have a full house tonight, Sir.”

“Get Barton down here.”

JARVIS didn’t reply, but he knew it’d only be a few minutes before their resident archer came blundering through the door. Leaning closer to the screen, he saw something that caught his eye. Tony glared at the timestamp on the computer. “JARVIS, this was from hours ago. Why didn’t you let me know?”

“It seemed to me that you had more pressing problems that needed taking care of. I didn’t realize that you would elect to continue to ignore them.”

Tony clenched his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t need this from you either, JARVIS.”

“If I may say, Sir. Captain Rogers and- ”

“No, you may not. _Mute.”_

Anger bubbled in his gut, his chest throbbing, as he grabbed a tablet, furiously compiling info on Carlisle to send to the rest of the team.

“Skynet said you wanted to see me?”

Tony’s eyes darted up quickly to see Clint stroll into the workspace.

“Yep,” he replied tersely, putting the finishing touches on before sending the report out to everyone. “Take a look at this,” Tony continued, tossing the tablet at Clint.

The man caught it gracefully, eyes peeling over the screen. “Another potential fire breathing monster?”

“Looks that way.”

Clint hummed. “Colorado though. I like Colorado.”

“You won’t like it in November.”

“Nah, probably not,” he replied, looking at Tony.

Tony couldn’t help but shift in his seat. Clint had this way of looking at people. It reminded him of Natasha, how she took apart a person with a single glance. But with Natasha, she relied on body language, her eyes darting around until she found a crack. But Clint, he just stared, eyes locking with the target. Never breaking contact. “ _All I’ll ever need to know about a man is in the eyes,”_ he told Tony once.

Tony wondered what he could see in his.

“So, what now?” Clint started again. “Not sure why I was the lucky winner to get the inside scoop, but you don’t exactly need me to call a family meeting.”

“Well, I’m going to need you to call this one, because I can’t go with you.”

Clint paused. “You’re serious. You’re ditching a mission?”

Dealing with a potential Extremis case always called for a back-up of two heavy hitters at minimum. That meant at least either Steve or Bucky would be going.

Yeah, no. If his skills in the kitchen had demonstrated anything, it was that he was going to sit this one out.

“Can’t. Have an investors meeting tomorrow.” He’s pretty sure he did. Like, 80% sure. Besides, he’d promised Pepper coffee and scones.

“And you’re willingly going?”

Tony sighed. “Some of us do have a day job. How do you think we keep the lights on around here?”

Clint cocked his head, smirking slightly. “I just thought the money came from ‘The Sexiest Man Alive’ royalty checks. Someone on the team has won three out of the last four years. We could have gone for a clean sweep if Cap wasn’t such a boy scout and forfeited because, and I quote here, ‘ _it isn’t fair to the other men if I win twice.’_ ”

Tony rolled his eyes. Sounds like Steve. “I don’t even know why you read those rags,” he continued.

Clint gave a small shrug. “Passes time on the quinjet. Besides, it’s where I get all my info. You’ll _never_ guess who Natasha’s dating.”

Tony couldn’t help the snort that left him. He looked away, turning back to his work station, opting not to reply. He knew Clint wouldn’t be offended. It was one of the best parts of being friends with Clint, how carefree he was. How he and Tony could go weeks without seeing each other until they stumble into each other’s paths, Clint just picking up where he left off, not missing a single beat. They could talk into the early hours of the morning about 80’s films or just offer nothing more than a passing glance in the hallway, but that was enough. It was easy, being his friend. He never expects anything, never forces his hand, he’s just there. “ _Just along for the ride,”_ Clint always joked.

A shuffling of feet behind him had him perking back up. He’d assumed that Clint had left. He turned in his chair to see Clint looking almost nervous, a hand fiddling through loose strands of dirty hair.

“Listen, Tony, you have to know that they- ”

“Don’t,” Tony interrupted. “Just… please.”

He knew who _they_ was. He didn’t want to hear about _they._

Clint gave him a long look. There is was again. That stare. “Yeah, okay, man,” Cling said finally. “I’ll let you know when this has been taken care of,” he added, shaking the tablet as he walk out of the lab.

“Thank you,” Tony replied quietly, even though he knew that Clint couldn’t hear him. He tapped his fingers against the table, realizing how loud they sounded in the now empty lab. There was no lull of music to hum to. There was no clinking metal fingers that tapped along to the bass line. There was no scratch from a pencil on paper. No chiding laughs or dulcet murmurs.

Tony looked around. For the first time in his life, he wanted to leave the shop.

Instead, he grabbed the closest thing within reach, prototype Widow Bites, and let his fingers take over, mindlessly deconstructing, only pausing to rub at his throbbing chest.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky looked out at the scene before him. Trees rustled softly as the sun tried to claw its way up in between the two mountain peaks. Somewhere, birds chirped. It was every cliché that he could think of, but Bucky found himself unable to look away.

It was so different than that of the city, but Bucky liked it. He didn’t know if it was due to his new persona or it was just because he never got to experience it as a young city boy, but the stillness calmed him.

The job had been a bust. Not surprising, honestly. The guy they’d been sent to find was nowhere to be seen, but Bucky wasn’t worried. They’d find him again. It’s not as if actually finding the guy would have made for a more interesting trip. All of their Extremis trips end with the target coming away with a clean blood test – the ones they find, anyway. He understands that it’s a safety measure; from what he’s read in reports and what he’s heard from Clint ( _“Dude, it’s like some shit straight out of Game of Thrones.”_ ) and Natasha ( _“I’ve seen worse.”)_ , Bucky knows that this is something to be handled sooner rather than later. With the full team, however, it wouldn’t be a problem – Bucky didn’t like to think of when it first popped up, and Tony had to take them on by himself.

_Tony._

He wondered what Tony was doing. New York was a few hours ahead, but that didn’t mean anything. Tony Stark was a very stubborn man, and he certainly didn’t need the Sun to tell him when and when he could not do things.

It was one of the first things that drew him to Tony. The man had such a blatant disregard for anything attempting to control him. Bucky had been so lost when he first came to the tower, that seeing Tony act that way was like a boat being drawn in by a lighthouse.

He remembered the first time he found Tony this way.

 _“Why are you dismantling a toaster at 3 A.M.?”_ Bucky had asked.

 _“Why not?”_ Tony had replied.

And that had been that.

“All aboard, kids,” Clint drawled.

Bucky took one last look at the nature scene before ambling on the quinjet, flopping down next to Steve. He closed his eyes, listening to Clint and Natasha in the cockpit, going through their preflight checklist. The ramp closed followed by a gentle lift as Clint ascended into a smooth takeoff.

It was quiet for a while and Bucky let his thoughts wander. Didn’t matter what path he took, he always wound back to thinking about one man.

“I saw him before we left.”

Steve’s voice didn’t even startle him. He’d known that Steve had been waiting to say something – just as Steve knew he was pretending to sleep to avoid saying something.

Bucky just hummed.

“He said he was feeling better. Looked better too.”

And thank God for that. Never again could he bear to carry an unconscious Tony up too his room, the man wheezing out breaths as he sweated through his clothes.

“Buck.”

Bucky slowly opened his eyes, turning to look at Steve.

The man looked hollowed, ghostly even, in the artificial lighting of the jet. Bucky knew he probably looked the same way. The two of them hadn’t really had a long talk after, well, whatever the hell happened with Tony. Steve has an affinity to hit things and Bucky just shuts himself off, so nothing was ever discussed. Both men had jumped at the opportunity of a mission – the one down side being now, the both of them locked in a confined space, having nothing else to do but address their wounds.

“You look like shit,” Bucky said.

Steve shot him a wry smile. “You’re no picnic yourself.”

They descended into silence again, each waiting for the other to bring up the elephant in the room.

“Do you know why my ceiling is painted?” Steve asked finally.

He shook his head. It was a question he’d always had, but never bothered to figure it out.

“Tony painted it,” Steve replied.

That was… not what he was expecting. He had only seen Tony hold a paintbrush once in his lifetime, and it was only while he was trying to get past Steve to the painting currently being worked on. ( _“If you’re going to paint a portrait of me Steve, at least have some common decency and give me a bigger package!”_ )

He remembered when he saw the odd ceiling for the first time – there was no amount of conditioning in the world that would make him forget _anything_ about that night.

He had been at the tower for some time; he wasn’t sure how long exactly.

(Yes, he did. He had been there for eighty-seven days. He counts every single day that he’s at the tower. It was a habit that he’d picked up from the Soldier during his time with HYDRA. He remembered always counting the days when he was out on a mission. Bucky thinks he used it as a timer – a countdown of his remaining freedom before it was back to sleep. Now, since living with the Avengers, he counts up instead of down. A constant reminder of his second chance, one that he refused to lose again.)

It had been late in the evening, both he and Steve had been hovering in the kitchen on Steve’s private floor, their metabolism getting the best of them. It should have been no different than any other night. Steve attempting to cook, Bucky correcting him every now and again. But Bucky had cracked a joke and Steve was leaning over the island, shoulders shaking as he let out huge belly laughs. Then he was straightening back up, wiping at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, before whispering _“God, I love you,”_ before planting one on Bucky’s lips.

He had been in such a state of shock, Steve more so once he realized what he did. Bucky could faintly hear Steve over the pounding of his heart: _“I’m so sorry”_ and _“not while you’re still healing”_ and _“I wasn’t thinking clearly.”_

If Bucky had been a better man, he would have agreed with him: _“you’re right”_ or _“I’m not the man I once was”_ or _“you deserve better.”_

But he wasn’t.

He had surged back forward, plastering himself against Steve as he mashed their lips together. Strong hands had dragged across his back and threaded through his hair and Bucky was _gone._ The voice in his head that was screaming for him to stop had reduced to a dull thud – if there was ever a slight chance that Bucky could have Steve back in his life, he wasn’t going to miss it.

He wasn’t sure how they’d made it to the bed, he was too focused Steve. The warm skin that flushed brightly when he passed his lips over it, the rigid muscles that strained under his fingertips, the breathless moans that reached his ears.

Bucky had felt Steve’s desperation match his, the both of them bouncing on the mattress together as they literally ripped fabric away to get access to more skin. They pushed and pulled, and Bucky lost track of whose body was whose. Each kiss, each touch, each whisper – it was like relearning the lyrics to a favorite song and Bucky flung himself over the edge, falling into Steve.

It was hours later when he had first noticed the ceiling. Steve had already drifted off, his head tucked right under Bucky’s. Bucky found himself honing in on the blonde. Each breath, deep and sound, exhales brushing past his neck and over his shoulder. His legs tangled underneath the sheets with Bucky’s, his hand slayed right over his heart. His steady pulse under metal fingers.

He remembered whispering _“don’t forget, don’t forget”_ under his breath. He had leaned back, not before brushing a hand gently through Steve’s hair, and looked up. It was then when he had first noticed it.

After a lot of recent time looking up – doctors’ office, after doctors’ office, after therapists’ office – he noticed that while most ceilings usually ranged from white to eggshell, this one shone gold, even in the darkened room. One might think that would be ostentatious – especially for a man like Steve – but it flowed beautifully, meeting up with whitewashed crown molding and blue walls. It was odd for sure, especially since no other room in the tower shared this eclectic taste. Bucky had meant to ask Steve in the morning, but as soon as those blue eyes opened, their lips were locked and nothing else mattered.

“Yeah,” Steve answered, pulling Bucky from his memories. “He didn’t even hire people for it. He did it himself.”

Bucky furrowed his brow. “Really?”

“We spent a lot of late nights together,” Steve started. “We always managed to stumble into each other’s paths – I couldn’t sleep and Tony, well, he always said he was still working, but sometimes he would walk in with his signature bedhead. I asked JARVIS and he said that Tony has an alert for when someone has a nightmare,” he added, smiling softly.

Bucky knew about the protocol as Tony had spent plenty a nights with him as well. It was shocking when he first told Bucky. Tony was the type of man to hide and lick his wounds in private, so it didn’t make sense that he would willingly seek out his haunted roommates, offering warm smiles and soft commentary. But that was Tony for you. Always surprising. Always giving.

“He asked me why I wasn’t sleeping,” Steve continued. “I told him it wasn’t the problem of falling asleep, it was waking up. See, I had a problem sometimes. Every once in a while, I’d wake up and see the white ceiling and I… it reminds me too much of that room. In that room, that _fake_ room, where they told me that… when I would wake up it see it, and the _first thing_ that would pop in my head was ‘ _God, how long did I sleep this time?_ ’”

Bucky couldn’t help grabbing at Steve’s shoulders, grounding him, but Steve shook his head and carried on. “Tony hadn’t said much when I told him, and I thought that was it. Next day I came walking into my room after my run and there he was, painting my ceiling. He was such a mess,” Steve muttered, smiling fondly as he stared into the opposing quinjet wall. Bucky knew he was replaying the memory perfectly in his head. “He couldn’t find a tarp, so he’d laid a bunch of his blueprints on the ground. He had a roller, but it was attached to some, well, I don’t know what kind of contraption it was, but I _knew_ that he stayed up all night to make it. And when he looked at me,” Steve laughed, “he had paint all over his face and arms from where it dripped down from the ceiling.”

Bucky couldn’t help but snort, Steve chiming in until both men were shaking with laughter.

“Why did he do that, Buck?” Steve asked, when they finally got themselves under control.

_For the same reason he does everything._

“It’s what he does,” Bucky finally responded. “He fixes.”

Steve nodded, and the pair fell silent, listening to Clint’s murmurs and the hum of the jet.

“What’s our next move?”

Bucky held in a sigh. Steve was always like this. Constantly planning the next play, trying to push forward. But this was Tony; Steve could push forward all damn day only to realize he’d walked in a circle.

“I don’t know,” Bucky answered. And he didn’t. What Tony had said – it definitely wasn’t unforgiveable, but it had been a harsh reminder that the man could cut you down, with or without the suit. “The guy wants space, maybe we should give it to him.”

Steve frowned, turning to face Bucky. “But he didn’t mean any of the things he said. You told me that he didn’t, right?”

Bucky clenched his jaw, breaking away from that gaze. It was truly incredible how Steve Rogers could be both so observant and oblivious. Give the man two minutes and he could recreate a map better than any cartographer, but stand Steve in front of a person and he’s as useful as a screen door on a submarine.  

No, reading people never been Steve’s specialty. When he was young, he was too earnest, always believing the best in everyone and overlooking red flags; post ice-nap, he’s always on the defensive, taking everything he doesn’t understand as a threat.

Part of his duties as Steve’s best friend included translating social situations for Steve. But that was a century ago. He’d used to be able to tackle this one no problem, but now, relying on an ex-brainwashed assassin for advice probably wasn’t the best idea. Of course, thinking about it now, Bucky isn’t sure that anyone could ever get a clear read on Tony.

“I hope so,” Bucky answered quietly.

Tony saying those things was hearing a rejection that he wasn’t ready for.

His and Steve’s infatuation of the genius was like walking a tightrope. It wasn’t the concept of adding another person to his bed – hell, Bucky had committed so many sins over the course of his lifetime, he liked to think finding not one, but _two_ people to love actually bolstered his resume.

But Tony… Tony was a spitfire. Being with him was trying to survive a tornado in the middle of a tsunami. But Bucky was more than happy to let himself be swept away by the storm. Tony was worth it.

He had been so relieved that Steve had bridged the gap and brought it up. Bucky had been at war with himself – how could he possibly be dragging his attention elsewhere when he had Steve right in front of him? Bucky had buried his affliction deep; he had fought tooth and nail to get back by Steve’s side and he couldn’t risk it. But Steve and his blunt self had just blurted it out, and after the pair of them blubbered on about their feelings for their teammate, they finished up with some of the best sex Bucky had ever had.

Bucky knew that on some level Tony was interested as well – or at least, so he thought. He’d caught the lasting stares, chestnut eyes dragging over their bodies, even the gentle touches, lingering ever so slightly. When he told Steve that, the blonde had been ecstatic, wanting to rush down to the lab and proposition the man right there, but Bucky had stopped them. Being interested is a long way from being committed.

Tony’s had a very long history of being used. Despite the man’s calloused outer shell, Tony is more than happy walk into the fire if asked. Bucky needed to know that Tony was on the same page as them. Tony had a habit of putting other people’s happiness before his, and Bucky would never forgive himself if he or Steve took advantage of that.

The dance they had with Tony had been enough for him at the moment. Little pushes and prods, innocent flirting and casual touches. It was such euphoria, but it always came with the dread that one day the song would end. And it did – Tony had _snapped._

So yes, Bucky hoped that Tony didn’t mean anything by it, that it was his fever, that it was his sleep deprivation, that is was _anything._ It didn’t matter as long he could have the music back.

A slight shift occurred and Bucky felt the quinjet start to descend. A look out the front window confirmed that they were back in New York. The other occupants started to move around, but Steve and Bucky stayed rooted to their spots.

“We should talk to him,” Steve whispered, watching carefully as if to make sure no one was listening. “He’s feeling better, so he should have a clear head. We’ll talk… and then we’ll know. For sure.”

Bucky found himself nodding, standing and following Steve off the jet with numb legs. Glass doors opened and the pair trudged into the communal area. To his surprise, both Clint and Natasha were still there – they usually slinked off post-mission as soon as possible – watching across the room.

Walking forward, Bucky too caught the commotion, watching Bruce in a heated discussion with an unknown man over by the elevators. Before he even had a chance to tune in, Bruce was nodding and shaking the man’s hand before he disappeared into the elevator.

Bruce, on the other hand, noticed that he’d caught everyone’s attention, and headed back over to the group. “You’re back,” he breathed, almost in relief.

“Who’s your friend?” Bucky asked, nodding towards the elevator. If Bruce noticed him skipping the pleasantries, he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t uncommon that the team got on edge whenever an outsider entered the tower. Some of the most paranoid people lived there; that, and their heaping pile of trust issues, was reason enough that them to get twitchy around newcomers.

“Dr. Burke,” Bruce said with a frown.

“You catch Stark’s bug?” Clint asked, already trying to mask his face.

“No. He was here for Tony.”

“I thought he was feeling better,” Steve said sharply, worry bleeding in his tone. Bucky clenched his hands in agreement.

“I thought he was too,” Bruce replied, shaking his head. “But Burke left with blood samples.”

Ice poured through Bucky’s veins. “You think it’s something serious?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Bruce nodded. “Yeah, because I didn’t call the doctor. Tony did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close to the reveal!  
> What's wrong with Tony?!


	8. Chapter 8

"What's wrong?"

It came out harsh and demanding, exactly the opposite of how Steve had promised himself he would talk to Tony. Of course, Steve gave himself some leeway; his head was already in overdrive with 'what if' scenarios. Tony called the doctor - Tony  _never_ calls the doctor. He rarely calls anyone of any trade. When there's something that he has a problem with, Tony uses a two-step method. He stays up nights in a row in order to master a new art form, and  _then_ he calls the professionals - just to confirm that he knows more than them. (It's happened on more than one occasion. The most recent being glass blowing, as Tony had gotten into a heated argument at a charity art gala with Dale Chihuly, after the man had mistakenly told Tony that his process was more complex than building machines. Tony had stomped off into the night, not before claiming to _"create something better than the melted candy canes that you call art, and in half the time!"_ It was three nights later when Steve stumbled down to the workshop to find Tony over a makeshift furnace of the Iron Man boots and gauntlets, facing up as they blasted over a lump of molten glass. The abstract figurine, tinted red and gold of course, currently sat on Steve's mantle and was, in Steve's opinion, the most priceless thing he owned. By the amount of Twitter likes Tony got after posting it at Chihuly, Steve figured he wasn't the only one who agreed.).

But Tony clearly didn't call Burke over to prove his superior mind. 

All it had taken was Bruce's admission and Steve was surging down the hallway and up the stairs, not stopping until he'd busted into Tony's room. 

Tony was sick  _again,_ or he was  _still_ sick. It didn't matter. All that mattered was Tony was suffering and alone, and Steve just let it happen.  _Why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he do anything?_

Steve had known Tony for a long time. He knew each and every way Tony liked his coffee (roast depends on the season and oddly enough, the last tool Tony had in his mouth. The amount of sugar depends on the amount of sleep Tony got the night before.). He knew how to trick Tony into eating (Tony was a competitive man; making bets with him was a surefire way to get some calories in him.). He knew his favorite shirts were the ones with more stains on them (none of which were from food), that he bases his outfits on what sunglasses were currently his favorites, and that he gushes over his robot children when he thinks no one else is listening. 

He knew each of his defense mechanisms. 

Which is why Steve couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why he'd just walked out of the room. It was a repeat play that Tony uses constantly, pushing human comfort away to continue to live in his fortress alone. Steve wasn't exactly sure how Tony ended up this way - but he had a pretty damn good guess. 

It took way too long for Steve to string things together. Clip a birds wings, and they won't bother trying to try and fly off their perch, choosing to remain docile, held captive by their cage. Keep Tony from forming or relying on any form of human relationship, and he would cut ties immediately when someone started to get chummy. 

That argument had kept Steve up night after night, the blonde replaying it out in his head while he tried to ignore Bucky toss and turn next to him, the man no doubt suffering the same affliction as Steve.

 “-eve?”

Steve startled, eyes locking back with the lump in the bed. Tony looked almost as how he did last time – flushed and sweaty skin, sickly pale under the room lights, voice cracking around chapped lips.  _It’s just a bug, it’s just a bug,_ Steve tried to chant to himself as he clenched his hands.

But it wasn’t just a bug. It couldn’t be. Tony blinked up at him with clouded hazel eyes, pink tinging around the pupils. Steve could see his muscles strain as Tony seemed to fight through a full body charley horse. He counted the irregular breaths that stuttered out of Tony’s chest that reminded Steve too painfully of his asthma days.

But despairingly enough, that wasn’t the problem at hand. Tony was looking at him with slightly widened eyes, almost cautious, and Steve just knew the man was waiting for Steve to walk back out the door. Fat chance.

“Hey,” Steve replied quickly, trying to flash a smile, although it came out more as a grimace. He stumbled around the bed and pulled the armchair up to Tony’s side. “I thought you said you were feeling better.”

“Was,” Tony croaked.

“This doesn’t look like better,” a voice came from behind. Bucky. Steve turned slightly and saw the whole team there, hovering worriedly by the doorway.

Turning back to Tony, Steve caught the brunette flick his eyes over to Bucky before they darted away. Steve responded by shooting a dirty look over to Bucky; it didn’t matter what happened last time, what was said last time. Tony could cut Steve up six ways to Sunday, and Steve would always come crawling back, like an addict finding his way back to the bottom of a bottle. As long as Tony let him back in, he’d be there. A flash of grief flew across Bucky’s face and the man scampered over to the chair to cram himself next to the blonde, and Steve realized that Bucky was in the same boat as him.  

He could see Bucky worry at his metal fingers as he bit his lip, the man no doubt trying to find the right words to say. As soon as he did, however, Tony cut them off.

“Colorado?” he asked looking at Clint.

Clint shook his head, slowly, fingers itching for the invisible arrow. “We couldn’t find him.”

“We’ll deal with him when the time comes,” Natasha tried to placate.

That answer obviously didn’t sit well with Tony, his brow furrowing as he frowned. “Could be dangerous,” he panted, breaking off in a groan as he adjusted himself slightly on the bed.

“I think that if he was planning to take over the world with his new fire-bending powers, he would have done so already,” Clint replied, shrugging.

“This isn’t a priority!” Bucky hissed. “JARVIS, get the doctor back up here.”

"Burke already took some blood," Bruce tried to placate. "He's going to go run some tests and- " 

"Then he can damn well do his tests here," Bucky snapped in response. "Look at him, Bruce! He needs help!" 

"Right," Bruce sighed, looking warily at Tony. "JARVIS, would you- " 

"I've already taken the liberty of calling Dr. Burke back up," came the AI's response. 

Steve couldn't help but smile slightly. Good to know JARVIS was on their side. 

Soon enough, Dr. Burke was shuffling in the room again, looking around at the rest of the group. "You rang?" he asked wryly. 

"What's he got?" Bucky asked, nodding towards Tony. 

"N-no," Tony stuttered. "Doctor-patient confidenti- "

Steve shushed him, unable to stop himself from running a hand down Tony's sweaty arm. "What's wrong with him?" 

Dr. Burke look a look around the room before deflating, unable to deflect multiple hard stares. 

"Could be a few things. I'd have to take a closer look at my samples to know for sure." 

"But?" Steve prompted.

"But initial guesses? Mr. Stark picked up some form of swine flu... or he's contracted meningitis." 

"Meningitis?" Bruce gaped. 

Burke nodded, gesturing to Tony. "He had some back spasms this morning and his range of motion of his spine is limited." 

"I'm assuming this is really bad," interjected Clint. 

"Definitely a nasty thing to catch, but nothing that can't be treated." 

But Bruce was shaking his head. "He's bound to have had a vaccine at some point." 

"It's possible, I'd have to pull his full record to be sure. But regardless of whether he's up to date on his shots, with his, let's say  _unique,_ immune system, there's a chance that his body never responded in the way that it should." 

"Well, wait a second," Steve responded, hand clenching tightly around the arm of the chair. "If his body doesn't accept the vaccines, how the hell can he be cured?" 

"This is all very hypothetical," Burke said, holding his hands up in defense. "We shouldn't jump to conclusions before we know the full story. Now listen, I have a friend that works at the CDC's Quarantine Station down in the city. They have a broader knowledge and a much larger testing capability than I do; I can put in for a request and be back in two days with a diagnosis and some medication." 

"Two days?" Bucky scoffed. "Two days ago, Tony was running around in the lab, and now look at him! You really want to risk waiting another two?" 

"I'm with Bucky on this one," Bruce agreed. "His symptoms have escalated too quickly." 

"I'm not sure what you're asking me to do here." 

"Call your buddy. He's doing to tests. Now," Bucky argued.

"You can't possibly be serious," Burke retorted. "This is the CDC we're talking about here. I can't just demand a house call!" 

"You know who we are and what we do." All heads snapped to Natasha, who was eyeing the doctor dangerously. "We have a long list of very important people that owe us some favors. Now, we can do this the easy way, and you can call your friend. Or, I can call your boss's boss's boss, and get your medical license revoked for negligent practices." 

"You wouldn't," Burke snapped. "That's blackmail!" 

Natasha looked past Burke, over at Steve, the others silently following suit, waiting for an order. 

Steve looked down at Tony, who had passed out at some point in the argument. Besides the occasional flutter of his eyelids and the slight wheezing of his chest as he struggled for breath, he lay still, sunken into the bed like stone. Tony was never still. Even while sleeping, the man was twitching around, his brain never fully stopping. Looking over him like this was a painful reminder of their first battle together, Tony's still form encased in the battered Iron Man armor. 

Moments like this always gave Steve pause. Moments that forced him to test his morality, precariously balancing between his personal and public life. Captain America was a symbol. A national icon that stood tall on the grounds of justice and freedom. There were things expected of him. 

But Steve Rogers never asked to be a symbol. He just asked to be a solider. He wanted to help. To protect. 

A final glance at Tony and he was reaching in his pocket for his phone, gingerly handing it over to Dr. Burke. 

 _"Please,_ _"_ he whispered hoarsely. 

* * *

Hot water sluiced over his backside, the steam wrapping around him like a constricting snake. He'd lost track of how long he'd been in the shower; the only downside of unlimited hot water was that Steve constantly found himself losing time under the pounding stream. From the silence from the surrounding stalls, Steve gathered that the rest of the team had long since gone and he'd been in there too long. 

 _It will all be over soon,_ he thought to himself, still making no move to shut the water off. 

Burke had begrudgingly agreed to call his contact with the CDC. They'd waited and waited - for _still_ far too long in Steve's opinion, as they'd been forced to watch Tony whimper through another spasm and then barely manage to catch a break before the genius started to choke on his on phlegm - until a pair of stern men joined the group in Tony's bedroom. 

They'd taken one look at Tony before ushering everyone out of the room, which failed spectacularly. 

_"You've got another thing coming if you think I'm leaving him in here alone with you schmucks," Bucky growled._

_"Everyone needs to be decontaminated. If Mr. Stark is carrying something contagious, there's a chance any one of you could have picked something up."_

_"We don't get sick," Steve replied stubbornly, walking up next to Bucky. "So I think we'll stay, thanks."_

_"Your body may be immune but it doesn't stop it from acting like a backpack for viruses," one of the CDC men snapped back at him. "You dragged us all the way out here for treatment, the least you can do is cooperate."_

Steve grunted, jamming a fist into a shower wall, listening to the tiles break in grim satisfaction. Logically, he knew they were right, but he needed to be there with Tony. He needed to be there when they said that he was going to be okay. JARVIS had promised Steve and Bucky that he'd keep an eye on Tony, and that they'd be the first to know when the doctors were finished with their  _evaluation_ and they could go back in Tony's room. 

Something dull thumped across his back, and a quick peek over his shoulder confirmed that it was Bucky, the brunette worrying his forehead between Steve's shoulder blades. Wordlessly, Steve turned, pulling the other man into his arms. 

They stood there silently, grounding each other. There was nothing to say. There was nothing they could say.

Eventually the water turned off, Bucky's doing, and they ambled out of the shower. Steve glared at the door, unwilling to face what was back out there, but knowing he had too. He stared on blankly, barely making the motions as Bucky dried them both off. 

Steve only managed to catch Bucky changing out of damp clothes. He'd stepped into the shower fully clothed, not bothering to change. But as his friend was shucking on his third shirt of the day, Steve felt his heart clench in his chest. Bucky had showered, left, but then  _came back in._

"What's happened?" Steve whispered. 

Bucky paused, biting his lip as he looked away from Steve. "I don't know, Stevie. But I don't think it's good." 

Pushing past the other man, Steve stormed out of the gym showers and through the door, pounding up the stairs until he skidded to a halt on the common floor. 

Men dressed in white were scattered throughout the whole floor, whispering amongst themselves, shooting suspicious looks over the rest of the Avengers that had gathered onto the couches.  Steve jogged over to the group, gesturing to the room. "Who the hell are all these people?" 

"The CDC," Burke frowned, pushing damp hair out of his face, eyes following the new additions to the tower. "You wanted them here, so here they are." 

"We didn't ask for an army," Bucky grouched. "What are they looking for, Tony's- hey!" he shouted abruptly at a man shimmied over to him, waving a wand with off-colored neon lights over him. "You already did that shit to me; go bother somebody else!" 

The man, seemingly unaffected by Bucky's outburst, continued over to Steve, who allowed him a few swipes of his lighted stick over his body, before humming softly and leaving. 

"Maybe this is a good thing?" Steve looked over at Clint, whose eyes were darting around the room as if he wasn't sure what target he should be looking at. "They're just being thorough. They're probably giving Tony his shots right now." 

"Seems like a bit much," Bruce mussed. "Even for something such as meningitis." 

"Is that what they said Tony's got?" Steve asked breathlessly. A long time ago, when handing Steve his first computer, Tony had warned him that the internet was a dangerous place. And while Steve had learned early on to avoid certain avenues, he couldn't help but type the disease quickly into the search bar on the way down to the showers, almost losing his stomach when he read through dozens of symptoms. 

"They haven't told us anything," Natasha replied. "They won't even let us go back upstairs." 

Steve clenched his jaw, feeling his teeth grind against each other. Staring into the sea of white, he grabbed the closest agent he could find. 

"You're going to tell me what's going on," he hissed, towering over the man as much as he could. 

He, just like his counterpart that had just interacted with Steve and Bucky, stared right back, unaffected. "Captain Rogers, you need to get a hold of yourself." 

"Not until I get some damn answers! Why are all these people here?" 

"Just a cursory search," came the flippant answer. "We want to make sure everything is properly decontaminated." 

"So I was right," Burke interjected. "It was meningitis?" 

"We're still running some tests," the man answered, not bothering to look away from Steve. "But right now, everything seems to be pointing that way." 

"When can we see Tony?" Steve asked. 

"Mr. Stark is currently being moved to a sterile environment that we've set up." 

_That doesn't answer my question._

"When will you get your results back? When can you get Tony the vaccine?" Bucky pestered. 

The man flashed the group a smile. "You'll know as soon as we do." And with that, he stepped away, scurrying to the other side of the room. 

Steve knew that smile. He'd seen it millions of times, whether it be plastered on his teammates as they chat with reporters at galas, etched onto Tony as he listened to others take apart his life story, or even adorned on his own face as he watched play back of the latest press briefing after the team's latest mission. 

It was plastic. It was fake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a PSA: It's not swine flu. Or meningitis.  
> Reveal in the next chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

“JARVIS, keep them out.”

“Of course.”

Steve sent a quick salute off to the nearest camera before joining the rest of the group that was currently huddled together in Tony's workshop. While slipping away from the gaze of the CDC was painfully easy, Steve knew that it was only a matter of time before they realized their current patients weren't still in isolation. 

"This is nuts," Burke was whispering. "We're hiding from the CDC.  _The CDC!_ Of all people!" 

"Get a hold of yourself," Clint retorted, rolling his eyes. 

"We won't have much time," Steve said, looking back at the glass doors, separating them from the outside, "so we have to think of something quick. We're no good to Tony down here. We need a plan; I'm open to any and all options." 

"What's all this?" Bruce interrupted, looking down at a pile of boxes pushed in the corner of Tony's work space. 

"Oh, they're some boxes from the storage room we went to a few weeks ago," Steve answered. "It's a bunch of Howard's notes on Rebirth. Tony wouldn't admit it, but I think he only took them to see if he could make a groundbreaking discovery his father couldn't." 

Bruce smiled softly, beginning to rifle through some of the boxes. "Sounds like Tony."  

"Anyone want to tell me why we're down here?" Burke questioned. 

"Away from prying eyes," Bucky retorted, glaring out the glass doors. "They're lyin' to us about Tony." 

Burke scoffed. "This is the CDC. What could they possibly gain from that?"

Bruce sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes before continuing to pick through the box. "Doesn't matter who they are, it matters who they work for, i.e. the government. Lying to the public is part of the job requirements. Could be for a number of reasons. They might not know the right answer yet, or, they might be lying because they don't know how to phrase the right answer." 

"You think they're lying about Tony's disease?" Steve chimed in. 

"I may not be an actual medical doctor," Bruce continued, pulling out a small piece of paper, staring intently at it, "but I know that it doesn't take that many men to administer a meningitis vaccine." 

"So what can we do to help Tony?" Clint asked. 

"Continue to demand answers?" Natasha shrugged. "We don't exactly have much to go on here." 

"Maybe we could- "

Bucky's reply was cut off by Bruce, the man sucking in a harsh breath, staring down in disbelief at a slip of paper. 

"Bruce?" Steve asked, jogging over to him. "What's wrong?"

"It can't be," the doctor whispered under his breath, jamming the paper into his pocket before staring at Tony's lab table with wide eyes. 

"What is it?" Steve pushed again, grabbing at the man's shoulders. 

Bruce met Steve's gaze, his eyes shining green. "Get me up to see Tony," he said evenly. 

Steve didn't reply, just leading the charge out of the lab, towards the elevator. The first CDC agent that spotted them was thrown hastily into the wall. The rest of the group dispatched anyone else that came close enough to stop the running herd. The team plus Dr. Burke scrambled into the elevator, the lift already moving upwards before Steve even had to ask JARVIS. 

When the door opened on Tony's floor however, Steve's eyes widened. CDC agents were everywhere, decked out in full hazmat suits and protective gear, crawling all over the penthouse. 

"Jesus, it's like they're multiplying," Bucky commented. 

"Get me into his room," Bruce snapped. 

"You heard the doctor," Clint replied, stepping out of the elevator. 

Of course, their presence was noticed immediately, and agents started to shout for them to return downstairs. 

 _Not today,_ Steve's mind hissed. He was done with their lying. He needed answers. He needed Tony. 

The sea of CDC agents stood no chance against the trained Avengers, the team easily parting the crowd for Bruce to travel safety through like Moses crossing the Red Sea. 

There were even more in Tony's room, Steve unable to make out Tony's form under them, but Steve didn't hesitate to pull them away from the bed and into the waiting arms of his team. 

"Hold them off!" he shouted to Bucky before running over to the bed with Bruce. 

Upon seeing Tony again, Steve stumbled, as if he's didn't remember how bad he actually looked. Despite the riot currently happening, the genius remained unconscious. 

Bruce dove onto the bed, kneeling over Tony's form. "It's alright, buddy, I'm here." Steve could see Tony's brow furrowing, a weak groan leaving his throat as he tried to track Bruce's voice. 

Steve threw a quick look over his shoulder to make sure the rest of the team had everything else under control before he joined Bruce on the bed, unconsciously moving to cradle Tony's head in his lap. He shushed the pale brunette quietly, pushing sweat-soaked hair out of his face, before looking back at Bruce. 

The wiry man hunched over, not hesitating before running his hands over Tony's face and down his arms. 

"What're you looking for?" Steve asked. 

But Bruce didn't reply, continuing his search. He dipped his hands under Tony's neckline, movements getting more frantic. 

"Hey, what they hell are you doing?!" a voice shouted. 

The scuffle to Steve's left turned to a full brawl as CDC agents tried to barge back into the room that the team was trying to keep them out of. 

"Hurry up, Bruce," Steve gasped, looking back at the doctor. "Whatever you're searching for, you've got to find it fast." 

"Shit," Bruce hissed, yanking his arms around faster, until stopping suddenly, hands pressed on Tony's sternum, under his shirt. Steve didn't have time to ask before Bruce was yanking the shirt back to reveal - 

 _"Dear Christ,"_ slipped out of Steve mouth.  

 _"Oh my God,"_ Bruce moaned. "No. No, no, no, no- "

"What, what is it?" Steve stammered, unable to tear his eyes away from the blackened masses growing on Tony's chest. "What's wrong with him?!" 

"Don't touch him!" White gloved hands yanked Steve off the bed, sending him crashing to the floor. 

He didn't even hesitate, throwing a wild fist into the closest body, trying desperately to get back to Tony. It wasn't even a moment later before a multitude of gloved hands were around him, pulling him away from the bed. Steve yanked and jerked, not caring about holding back. These men weren't trained, but there was just  _so damn many._ Every inch he pushed, he got pulled back another foot, until Tony's form was across the room. 

 _No, no, no._  

_"TONY!"_

A final grab for the bed and Steve stumbled, a biting prick to the back of the neck dropping him like a stone and pulling him down into the darkness. 

* * *

He came too slowly, his head throbbing similarly to the time a teenage Bucky convinced him to share a stolen bottle of whiskey that he'd hidden in the floorboards of his bedroom. Their first taste of alcohol. 

_"Come on, Stevie, I see guys drinkin' loads of this stuff down by the docks. I'm sure splittin' a bottle won't kill us."_

"It almost did, you jackass," Steve couldn't help but groan. Waking up that morning had been worse than any time Steve had ever had waking up in the hospital. The time he'd spent repenting in church later that week, under the watchful eye of a disappointed Mama Rogers, was just as bad, if not worse. 

"What?" 

That wasn't Bucky. 

Steve opened his eyes, finding himself peering up at Natasha, her fiery hair haloed by a multitude of blue lights. 

Steve groaned again, sitting up. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a hand hard into his forehead as if to force the pounding headache away. "God, what the hell -  _Tony,"_ he gasped, everything coming back to him in a flash. 

 Natasha hushed him gently, moving to help him stand up. 

"What the hell is all this?" he gaped. 

It was like looking from the inside of a bubble - clear, pristine tarps tented up around them, surrounding the group, washed over with pale blues that emanated from the lights above. He could see outside of the thick plastic, but it was disjointed, as if looking through a fun-house mirror. Looking closely enough, he could make out the shapes of workout equipment - whatever this room was, at least they were still in the tower. They were still close to Tony. 

"Quarantine." Steve spun around, looking down at Clint. The man had sandwiched himself in the corner, fingers twitching as his eyes darted around the containment, no doubt unhappy with all the uncovered, open space. 

"But, how the- " Steve trailed off, still in awe of the room, rubbing at his aching neck.   

_When did they even have time to set this up?_

"Not sure what they dropped you with, but it hit you hard and fast," Natasha said. "They got James too," she continued, nodding to a lump over to their right. 

"Buck," Steve whispered, rushing over to the other man, gently pushing on brunette's shoulder. Soft rumblings and a light slap of a metal hand against his own, and Steve breathed a little easier, watching carefully as Bucky came around. 

"You good?" he asked, looking back at Natasha. 

"Fine," she replied with a frown, looking at Dr. Burke pace around the room. "You two were the only ones who got juiced. We probably would have as well if we weren't making sure Bruce didn't Hulk out." 

Bruce was curled around himself, away from the rest of the group, hands pressing tightly against his headphones. Steve could pick up the dulcet tones coming from them, Bruce trying to breathe in time, trying to calm down. Even with the eerie lighting of the room, Steve could still make out the tinges of green on Bruce's fingers. 

"They herded us out of Tony's room - we should've stayed, but we had to get Bruce out of there. Besides, if they gave us whatever tranquilizer you got, who knows how long we'd be out. They brought us down here to the gym and left." 

_Tony._

God, Steve could still see it. The blackness of his chest, looking almost as charred and bubbled over as the pictured bodies he saw from concentration camps when he was still at war. He could feel his insides churning, and Steve had to clamp down, fighting against his roiling stomach. 

What even was that? Did Tony burn himself in the lab? Was it a leftover injury that festered after their last battle? 

_No._

Tony may be an idiot sometimes, but he isn't stupid.  

Whatever that was - it had to be from whatever Tony had gotten.

"They say anything?" 

"Just to behave," Natasha responded curtly, clenching her jaw. Steve followed her gaze, eyeing what looked like two armed guards, standing at the doorway of the gym. 

"As if they'd be a problem," Bucky huffed, yanking on Steve's arm to help him off the ground. 

"I don't think we should," Natasha murmured. 

"You kidding me? We need to get back up to Tony. Who knows what the hell they're doing up there to him," Bucky sniped in reply. 

"Exactly," Natasha answered. "I mean, look where we are. I think we're in way over our heads." 

Steve made to reply, but was cut off by the voices entering the gym. A pair of booted feet marched across the floor before opening a zipper along one of the walls, and stepping into the clear igloo. 

Steve couldn't make out anything distinguishing besides they were donning the same space-man suits the other agents had on in Tony's room.  _Hazmat suits._

Steve rose, puffing his chest out menacingly. "Listen very carefully. I don't care who you are and who you work for, but you have about two seconds to tell me what's going on before I start throwing punches." 

The one on the left scoffed, his breath fogging up the front of his helmet. "I'd suggest you calm down, Captain." 

"Calm down?!" Bucky roared. "You just drugged us!" 

Steve bit his lip, looking back at him. He couldn't imagine what the other man was feeling, waking up in a drugged state. It was a miracle he hadn't started throwing punches yet. 

"You broke containment," the one on the right said. "It was necessary." 

"You wanna go that route? Fine," Bruce hissed. Steve snapped his head to the left to see the man had abandoned his music, but was still sulking against the back wall. "Maybe we thought it was necessary because we were being lied too."

"Bruce," Steve started. 

"Dr. Banner. I'm glad to see you've relaxed." 

"Oh, I'm feeling anything but relaxed," came the sharp retort.  

"Right," the man on the left answered, opting not to push.  _Smart man._ "I'm Agent Kelley, and this here is Agent Morales." Morales nodded in greeting. 

"I don't care," Clint spat. "Let us outta here. We need to see Tony." 

"Can't let you do that," answered Morales. "You're under guarded quarantine. Especially since you took it upon yourself to charge guns-a-blazing into our patient's ground zero." 

"We had to get answers somehow," Natasha added, crossing her arms. "We sure as hell weren't getting anything from you." 

"And answers you found," Kelley retorted, looking back at Bruce. "I saw you with Stark. You knew exactly what you were looking for. You figured it out. When?”

Bruce glared right back. “I should ask you the same question.”

"As soon as we saw the rash," Kelley answered easily. 

"Well, what is it?" Steve snapped. "What's wrong with Tony?" 

Kelley seemed to hesitate, earning him another growl from Bucky. "Tell us!"

"Smallpox." It was Bruce who answered. "Hemorrhagic smallpox." 

 _"Jesus,"_ he could hear Burke whisper. 

Steve felt his heart palpitate, but forced himself to regulate his breathing. He decidedly did  _not_ think about all the horror stories he heard from his mother or the hospital staff. He didn't think about mothers wailing over children lost or sheet after sheet covering lifeless bodies. 

_No._

That was then. This was the 21st century. Tony would be fine.  _He had to be._

Metal bit into his palm and he realized that Bucky had clamped a hand tightly around his own. 

"Okay," he breathed out. "What are you doing to fix this?"

"You're in a quarantined section, but by tomorrow, the UV lights will have cleared any potential strains that you may have picked up. Just in case, someone will be around to administer vaccines shortly - since none of you seem to be exhibiting any symptoms, you should be in the clear," answered Kelley. "Everything else has been sealed tight while my team does a full sweep of the place, top to bottom."  

“No,” Steve growled. “What are you doing to fix  _Tony?”_

Silence.

“Nothing,” Burke interjected softly. “They’re not doing a damn thing.”

 _"What?"_ Steve crumpled. 

Kelley just shrugged. "There's nothing left we can do. The vaccine was our only option." 

"It's not working?" Steve asked with a small voice.

Kelley nodded. "We gave him the vaccine, but our doubts were confirmed. Following your timeline, Mr. Stark started showing preliminary symptoms weeks ago. The disease has had a long time to fester; with the blackening of his skin already starting, we know it's spread too much." 

"What are you saying?" Steve gaped. 

"I'm saying that we're doing our best to keep him comfortable."

Steve reared back as if he'd been slapped. "And then what, you just let him  _die?"_

"Listen," Morales tried to placate. "I realize this must be distressing- "

 _“Distressing?”_ Bucky cried. “I’ll show you fucking distressing.”

 "We did everything we could for him," Kelley grit out. 

"But you're supposed to help him," Steve whispered. "You're supposed to save him." 

"Rogers," Kelley sighed. "We're the CDC - the Center for Disease  _Control._ Right now my main job is to ensure this doesn't spread to the public." 

Steve stumbled, falling into Bucky's chest.  _Say something!_ his mind screamed, but Steve just stared blankly, his mouth staying empty. 

Tony was... dying. 

_Dying._

How did this happen? How could this happen? 

“Which leads us back to why we’re here,” Kelley replied evenly, startling Steve out of his head. Kelley looked over at Bruce. “You figured out Mr. Stark’s affliction without access to his body. How?”

“Does it matter?” Bruce answered hollowly, staring off into the wall.

“Yes. My men are trying to locate the source of the strain. Based on the fact that none of the surrounding hospitals have any reported any cases with similar symptoms recently and Mr. Stark's timeline, we have reason to believe that his infection originated from the tower. And I’m hedging to bet you know where it is.”

Bruce rubbed at his face, shooting a worried glance over to both Steve and Bucky, before dropping his shoulders in defeat. 

“There’s a jacket,” Bruce whispered, Steve staring at the man in disbelief. “Brown leather. Extremely vintage. It's down in Tony's workshop.”

"Wait," Steve tried to add, but the men were already out the entry way flaps and disappearing through the gym doors. "What about the jacket? Why do they need to know about the jacket?" 

Bruce didn't reply, not able to meet Steve's gaze. 

 _"Bruce,"_ Steve hissed. 

"It's just a theory." It was said so quietly, Steve even strained to hear it. 

"What theory?" Bucky growled. 

Bruce glanced up quickly, wringing his hands tightly like he does when a mission calls for a _Code Green_. He pushed himself up from the ground, walking slowly over to Steve and Bucky. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small lip of paper - the one Bruce had jammed into his pocket before leading the charge up to Tony's room. He handed it over to Steve gingerly. 

Steve recognized it instantly. It wasn't surprising that it had found its way into one of the Rebirth boxes - Steve was sure that there were a few in there, bearing one of his many aliases. Why they were so important now, didn't make any sense. "One of my 4F's? What does this have to do with anything?"

Bruce just pointed silently at the bottom of the page, at the list of 'Summary of Patient Health Issues'.

_Has had household contact with a tuberculosis patient._

Steve's stomach churned. Even after all these years, thinking of his mother, lying thin and pale in that hospital bed, trying to smile through the pain, still made Steve's insides turn to stone. "Yes?"

"Your mom, right?" 

Steve nodded numbly. 

"She was a nurse. Probably picked it up when she was at work, right? Did she work with any other types of patients?"

"She went where she was needed," Steve responded, throat constricting. 

"Why are you asking this?" Bucky asked, squeezing Steve's shoulder comfortingly. "What does this have to do with Tony?" 

"Because Tony has smallpox," Bruce said frankly. "And smallpox was eradicated in 1980. And if this were a cheesy cop show, Tony would have received the strain in the mail. But Tony doesn't use paper mail - I'm not even sure he knows how to open an envelope. There have been no other calls to assemble since the robots, he hasn't gone on any international trips, and he's barely eaten anything we haven't given him - and when he did eat out, so did we, and none of us have any symptoms."

"So what, you think that Tony's jacket was magically carrying the virus? You just said yourself that it shouldn't be possible, so where did it come from?" Steve shouted. 

"I don't think it's a question of  _where,_ so much as it is  _when,"_ Bruce retorted. 

"The hell are you talking about?" Bucky hissed. 

"I'm saying," Bruce continued, "is that it would be near impossible for anyone to get their hands on a viable strain of smallpox these days. But not if you lived in the 1940's."

Steve froze suddenly, feeling Bucky tense beside him as well. "What's that supposed to mean?" Steve said evenly. 

"I'm assuming that was your only jacket. How long did you have it? You ever visit your mom in the hospital while wearing it?" Bruce questioned. 

"Wait, so you think that I picked up the infection in the '40's, and carried it around on the jacket? Bruce, that was over 70 years ago!" 

"And the jacket has been laying in the dark, undisturbed that whole time. Until a month ago." 

Silence surrounded the group, the only noise a slight hum of the surrounding UV lights. 

"No. No," Steve laughed hollowly.  _"You're wrong."_

"Steve, I- "

"No!" he couldn't help but shout in return. "No way it came from the jacket. I mean, come on, Bruce, look at the rest of this!" he continued, gesturing back to the 4F. "The wind could blow too hard and I'd be put up in bed for weeks. If there were smallpox on that jacket, I would have died a long time ago." 

And there is was again. That silence. It reminded him of what Bruce said earlier:  _They might be lying because they don't know how to phrase the right answer._

"That might not be true," Bruce finally retorted. 

"What?" 

"You forget how I got here, Steve. The Hulk? He came from a failed experiment -  _of the super soldier serum._ I was trying to recreate it, based off Erskine's original work. I spent years studying you and your history." 

"So?" 

"So I, like many others, spent way too much time on 'what-if' scenarios? One of the age old questions that everyone had was how someone of your... original stature, living in the time that you did, had managed to survive long enough to receive the serum."

"And what was your 'what-if' scenario?" Steve questioned.  

"Your genes." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Your genealogy. It was one of my theses when I was in college." 

Steve just stared at the smaller man, waiting for him to continue. 

"After WWII ended, everyone seemed to get on the serum bandwagon. You were gone, Erskine was dead, and the SSR sure as hell wasn't talking. We just started from scratch again, starting over to bring back the age of the super soldier. With that, came every possible theory behind the serum, some more believable then others." 

"Theories?" Steve couldn't help but ask. "I was injected with Vita-Rays, everyone knows that." 

"Yeah, but no one knows how you survived," Bruce just shrugged. "You were, and are to this day, the only successful trial of the super soldier serum." 

"What about Bucky?" 

"No, mine was different," Bucky replied, shaking his head. "I remember Zola working on me. He and Schmidt argued about the changes that he had to make from Schmidt's blood to make a viable chain. I don't think I ever got the full package." 

"This is all very interesting, but what does this have to do with anything?" Clint snapped. 

Bruce sighed deeply. "I believe the reason Steve survived the procedure was because of his genealogy."

Steve furrowed his brow. "But Erskine told me he wanted me to be the test subject because- "

"What, because you're a good man?" Bruce asked. "Steve, no offense, but what happens with the serum is science, not a personality test."  

"Okay," Bucky said. "And?" 

"What I proposed was a possible explanation as to why you survived the serum process instead of, you know, turning out like Schmidt," Bruce continued, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I thought it had something to do with your DNA. Everyone's is different, so maybe you had the correct genetic code. Which lead me to the CCR5."

"The what?" 

"It's a gene," Burke added. "A receptor protein involved with the immune system." 

Bruce nodded in agreement. "It's been studied heavily for years - especially now that a percentage of humans now carry a mutation of that gene. A percentage that I think you were a part of." 

"Wait, wait, wait," Clint interrupted. "Are you trying to tell us you think Steve is a mutant?" 

"No, nothing like the X-Men, which is what you're thinking," Bruce said back. "This is just normal human evolution."  

Steve just shook his head.  _None of this made any sense!_ "You've lost me."

"Okay," Bruce sighed, clasping his hands together. "Think of an average person. Now think of someone who lived tens of thousands of years ago. Put them next to each other, and they would be anything but similar, right? Bone structure would be different, coloring, pigmentation, brain size, life expectancy, you name it." 

"And despite them being so different," Burke interjected, "they are our ancestors. We originated from them. Think about wisdom teeth, the appendix.  _We_ don't need them, but at some point in time,  _they_ did." 

"Right," Natasha said slowly. "Basic human evolution."  

"Exactly," Bruce agreed. "And believe it or not, man is still evolving. Gene mutation proves that."

"But why?" Clint asked. "We aren't exactly foraging for food on the tundra anymore."

"The same reason we're in this room right now," Bruce replied. "Diseases."

"The CCR5 mutation could be a reason why Captain Rogers never succumbed to any of the diseases he was exposed to during the Great Depression, and how he survived the Vita-Ray process - the serum is basically a virus itself," Burke pondered. "The mutation  _does_ give immunities to certain diseases." 

"Such as smallpox." 

"Smallpox has been around for over three thousand years. That's plenty of time for selective pressure to start, and for genes to start to mutate," Burke added.

"And since it's all hereditary, it would explain why your mother never got smallpox either." 

It blindsided him hard, getting so caught up in the doctors' explanation that he'd lost what was really important here. He cursed himself, thinking back to Tony. 

Tony, who was upstairs  _suffering_ through a fatal disease, who was  _dying,_ and, wait- 

"Are you saying," Steve croaked, "that because of this mutation, I would have been able to pick up smallpox somewhere, get it on the jacket, and  _survive,_ only to give that same jacket to Tony, who is now  _dying_ from that same disease?" 

Bruce wiped at wet eyes. "I think so, yes." 

And there is was. 

Steve could feel his mouth moving, but nothing ever came out, leaving him frying in the heat of Bruce's gaze like a fish out of water, gasping for a breath that he hadn't needed since before the war. Or maybe he was drowning again. There were voiced, but they were muffled, far away, as Steve sank, the bottom of the ocean swallowing him whole. But he couldn't be, he was on fire; he could feel the heat raging though veins, the roaring of flames sounding in his ears. 

Or was there just nothing? 

_The volume of the television was on mute, but Steve could still see the headlines scrolling under the shaky cellphone footage that replayed what happened earlier that night._

_Steve didn't even remember crushing the man's recorder with his hands, but there he was, doing it right on the screen. Before decking the man right in the face._

_Steve didn't regret it. He'd do it again in a heartbeat._

_"It must be so strange for you, to work alongside two generations of Stark's," the reporter had commentated. "Especially since the apple fell so far from the tree," he had added with a laugh. "Of course, I'm sure it's easier to keep a lid on Tony Stark in this setting. It's only a matter of time before that teapot blows again! Is it in memory of Howard Stark that you've moved into the tower? What do you think he would say, now that his son is-"_

_Steve didn't even let him finish._

_He wished he'd feel a sick twist of satisfaction watching the man go down again and again, but he only felt the same bubbling rage he felt when it happened._

_"You know, you shouldn't be watching that crap."_

_Steve tore his eyes away from the TV, watching as Tony sauntered into the room, mug in hand. Steve took a deep breath in, smelling a faint aroma of decidedly non-alcoholic hot chocolate. Good. The brunette swayed over, flopping gracefully onto the couch next to him._

_"Sorry," Steve finally responded. "Might be a little late for an apology, but I am. I didn't mean to ruin the night; I know how much it meant to you."_

_"You kidding me?" Tony laughed, checking his shoulder gently against Steve's. "That was the most fun I've had at a gala in years!"_

_Steve smiled ruefully. "I don't think you're supposed to be on my side here. Ms. Potts is going to be very angry with me."_

_"She'll be even madder when she finds out you still call her Ms. Potts," Tony replied. "Besides, the night is still young. I can go out and cause another international incident. Dispel some of her fury onto me?"_

_"You don't have to- wait, another?"_

_But Tony just chuckled into his mug, the pair falling into a companionable silence._

_"You didn't have to do that," Tony finally whispered._

_Steve fingers clenched against his thighs. "Well, he shouldn't have said those things about you."_

_Tony rolled his eyes. "Always on duty, aren't you?"_

_"Captain America, always sticking up for the little guy?" Steve tried to joke._

_"Is that a comment on my height?"_

_Steve just smiled. "I'm just saying, you built the suit. And there may or may not be a suspicious height difference when you get in it. Feeling self-conscious?"_

_Tony narrowed his eyes. "There are repulsor jets under the boots, Steve. Of course it's going to add some height!"_

_Steve just hummed, turning back to the TV. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Tin Man."_

_Steve could hear Tony huff next to him, the smaller man wiggling around as his brain no doubt churned up numerous witty retorts. But nothing came. "Thanks," Tony said instead, almost a whisper._

_Steve turned his gaze back to the engineer, the man seemingly engrossed at poking at the tiny marshmallows floating in his mug. "I thought you'd be mad at me," Steve admitted._

_"I thought I was," Tony replied. "I came up here to yell at you. I don't need someone fighting my battles for me."_

_"But?" Steve prompted._

_"But," Tony sighed, "it's nice to know that I have someone in my corner."_

_Steve could feel a grin spread over his face. "Of course. I'm always gonna do my best to keep you safe. That's what friends are for, Tony."_

_Tony just smiled in return. "Yeah, I know, big guy. I got nothing to worry about as long as you're here, right? "_

Steve felt his knees buckle under his, a harsh sob ripping from his chest as he collapsed to the floor.

_What have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just start by saying that you guys don't know how much I wanted it to be TB. 
> 
> It was THE perfect disease for Tony to get. Painful with a high fatality rate AND the added bonus of Steve's emotional trauma from his mother's affliction. There is also a latent form of TB, where you can be a carrier for the disease and never get sick - making Steve a latent carrier was the initial goal. Like, TB was the full sundae with a cherry on top. 
> 
> However, I found myself falling victim to being overzealous, and into the 'writer is in way over their head' bubble - mainly focused on getting the story out while I was inspired instead of doing some basic recon first. 
> 
> In fact, the first two chapters of this story were written with the intent of TB to be the bacterium of choice. You can tell when I finally had my 'oh shit' moment reflected in the huge time gap of updating. 
> 
> Here's how TB stabbed me in the back:  
> \- First of all, TB cannot be passed through material items, such as clothing. Which, considering the main basis of this story revolves around a jacket, it was a HUGE red flag. It can only be transmitted through the air from someone already infected (i.e. when they cough, kiss, etc.)  
> \- TB's strain life outside the body is around six months at most (assuming the near perfect conditions I was trying to achieve with a dark and damp warehouse that was untouched for years.) 
> 
> I found myself in an odd situation - I couldn't for the life of me, knowing those facts, continue with the path of TB. Which of course, seems almost ridiculous as I'm writing a fiction about something that's already fictional. It was somewhere my writing had never taken me before. Usually my writing starts with the backbone structure already in place, or it's delved so far into AU territory, that I can just 'fake it till I make it'. 
> 
> I've written and deleted so many chapters for this fic - even falling so deep as to thinking of scrapping the whole thing to force TB into my hand (I half-drunkenly proposed the idea of Tony time traveling, living with Steve, catching the strain and traveling back - what a ride that was.)
> 
> But, I decided to persevere. After spending weeks of digging through the internet's medical journals (which, wow, I don't think I've ever had a larger appreciation for medical professionals until now - even though I'm also still entirely convinced half the words they used are made up), I found my way back to smallpox. 
> 
> Smallpox was originally thrown out the window because of the visible spots. Just as deadly, but I wasn't on board with the visual give away, as I'm an ass that enjoys dragging out the suspense. But, upon finding the extremely fatal variation that is hemorrhagic smallpox, I decided to take the leap. Still visible on the skin, but I'm making the assumption that when Tony's skin began to discolor, it started on his chest region and was covered by his shirt. (Smallpox can be passed through clothing, and life span in ideal conditions is radically longer than that of TB. I found a lot of conflicting reports on an actual life span, so I decided to thrive off that unknown and let my strain survive the 70+ years - for my sanity.) 
> 
> That lead me to the next road block: How did pre-Steve get this strain and not die? There's no latent form of smallpox.
> 
> Which spurred my next info overload into the field of genetics and back to the eternal debate of evolution. 
> 
> Mother of God. 
> 
> What a ride it's been. (One that I am not willing to hop back on any time soon.) 
> 
> The rest of the story has already been set in stone, so here's to hoping for a smooth ride without any more existential crises. 
> 
> While I've avoided answering comments on this story, lest I give something away, I am more than happy to hop on after this chapter and discuss this process and any questions you have (minus any spoilers, of course.).
> 
> I also may or may not have figured out that there is an inbox on Tumblr as well (I know, I'm a determent to my generation). So, for those who have asked questions, or shot some love my way, I apologize! I'll be working through those past comments as well, so don't hesitate to drop a note. 
> 
> So, there you have it. Thank you to all that have tagged along on this insane and headache filled journey. Here's to hoping this awaited chapter lives up to your expectation. 
> 
> -JAT


	10. Chapter 10

Believe it or not, Steve Rogers rarely had dreams about the ice. If he ever did, it was always of him pounding away at a thick sheet of frozen glass, watching as his loved ones slipped away. The nightmares always took that symbolic form as it was the closest way his mind could concoct to the real thing.

In truth, he doesn’t have any tangible memory of his time in the ice. He remembers the initial collision of the plane, the forward momentum sending him crashing into the front dash, and then – _nothing._ Well, nothing until he was blinking himself into consciousness at SHIELD’s New York office. It was almost as if it never happened.

But what he did know, and what his allocated SHIELD therapist definitely _did not_ know, was that although his brain might not remember, his body sure did. Everyone was so concerned about what happened when he slept, but no one thought he would be in danger as long as he was awake.

It had first happened just days after he’d been defrosted. He had been going through the motions of his morning routine, still feeling numb to the current situation that had befallen him. He’d leaned down, bringing his face down to meet his hands that were cupped full of water; he was barely able to take a breath after splashing himself before his body just _froze._

His frame remained hunched over, his bones seemingly locking into place as everything else stuttered to a halt. His fingers curled in on themselves, and his eyes bulged in horror as he listened to himself try to wheeze in air that his lungs didn’t think was there, feeling his heart actually palpitate as it struggled to remember to beat.

Steve didn’t know how long he stood there, trying to convince his body that the phantom chill of the ice wasn’t actually there.

It started happening frequently: when the shower in his apartment ran out of hot water, when he gulped down ice water after a long run, when he got caught in the rain. Steve tried to face the problem head on by going for a swim – turned out he didn’t even make it to getting in some laps, as he had shut down as soon as the water started creeping around his body as he stepped in. (There’s a reason that SHIELD has a recorded number for how long he can hold his breath – he didn’t have anything else to do besides count the time passing as he prayed that his limbs would break free of their invisible hold before he drowned.)  

While he thought he was adjusting swimmingly, his body certainly didn’t agree and didn’t plan on letting him forget any time soon.

Unsurprisingly (even though at the time, it was surprising – he was a different man back then, who didn’t know what to think of anyone) it was Tony that caught on. He’d only been in the tower a short time before Tony had confronted him. It turns out that Tony had his own demons with water – a story that haunted way too many of Steve’s dreams – and had plenty of methods to survive day to day.

He introduced Steve to hand sanitizers, weather apps, even dry shampoo (“ _for those days you don’t even want to look at the shower”)._ Steve’s tower apartment was quickly refurbished – plush, warm carpet replacing the hardwood floors, heated tiles placed in the bathroom and kitchen.

Of course there were still bad days, but now they came so far and few in between, that it was nothing but a mere blimp on Steve’s radar.

But now it felt like he was back at square one, frozen in that cramped SHIELD bathroom even as his mind screamed at him to move and _do something._ The tears had long gone, but the numbing emptiness had remained, his body unable to move under an unseeable pressure.

Tony was dying. _And it was all his fault._

Kelley and Morales had already come back and made the confirmation – Tony, no _Steve’s,_ jacket was a carrier of the strain. A carrier of smallpox.

They’d asked if they should salvage the jacket after they successfully destroyed the strains it currently housed. Steve’s stomach roiled at the very thought of being in the same room as that cursed cloth.

Bucky seemed to share his sentiment. Steve wasn’t sure what he said, but by the sharp tone and the way the medical agents went scurrying out of the gym, Steve was sure that they’d never lay eyes on that jacket again.

_Good. It should burn._

It wasn’t much later that he felt Bucky plop next to him, offering nothing more than his body heat. It was one of the things that Steve always loved about Bucky. The brunette always had a way with words, but he knew when to not use them. He knew Steve well enough to know when he wanted verbal comfort, and when to sit silently at his side, burdening the pain with him.

“What now?”

Steve clenched his jaw at Natasha’s question.

 _“Hey, that’s Cap’s line,”_ Tony’s voice mocked.

Steve elected not to respond. He could feel all eyes directed at him and Steve shrank closer to the ground, wishing for the first time in a long time that he was small again.

“Come on, people. We need options.”

_Dammit, Natasha._

“What options,” Bruce snapped. “You heard them. There’s nothing we can do except wait around until they come back down and tell us Tony’s _dead.”_

Steve felt Bucky shiver next to him and he had to clamp down on his hands that itched to reach out to the other man. _You don’t deserve to offer comfort for the pain you caused._

“You think that if this situation was any different, Tony wouldn’t be here yelling at all of you to get off your asses?” Natasha hissed in return.

“I don’t know what you expect us to do,” Burke answered.

“This is no different than any other time Tony’s put his life in danger. Think of it as just another job. We have one goal: a cure.”  

“There already is one,” Bruce deadpanned. “Or did you not hear Kelley when he said that the vaccine failed?”

“We just need to think like Tony and step out of the box. What about Thor? Asgard’s might have something to fight this.”

“They might, but we don’t have a way to contact him when he’s off world.”

“What about the serum?” Clint questioned. “You’ve got two viable subjects right in front of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s good!” Bucky answered excitedly, startling against Steve. “We just need to give Tony some of our blood. If we can’t catch the disease, it’s bound to cure him right?”

“None of you guys are the same blood type,” Bruce answered dejectedly. “It would just do more harm injecting Tony with a blood sample.”

“Can you extract the serum from the blood? You’ve followed Erskine’s work before,” Natasha persisted.

“The last time I tried something like that I ended up as a green, rage monster. No way I risk Tony like that. Besides, my experiments took years of research and testing capabilities that we don’t have access too. Tony has days left, maximum.”

_Days. Maximum._

Steve wished they would stop. Each road let back to the same place – Tony breathing his last breaths.

“Could you try anyway? The serum has to be our best bet.”

Steve actually looked up from the ground at that statement, only because of the tiny waver he heard in her voice. Even she knew it was fruitless. And he knew that everyone else knew it was too.

“Nat, I’m not sure it’s worth it. I’d rather- ”

“What, just wait around until they come back down and tell us Tony’s dead? That’s what you said right?” Clint yelled at Bruce, shoving at his chest. “You know he would raise hell for you if- ”

 _“What do you want to me to do?!”_ Bruce shouted back, his face tinged green. “You don’t think it kills me that I’m stuck down here, absolutely _useless?_ Don’t you dare tell me that I’m not suffering as you are.”

“Don’t do this,” Bucky interjected, standing up to step between the two of them. “Tony wouldn’t want- ”

“It doesn’t matter what Tony wants, because Tony’s dying.” Steve’s voice cut through the other harshly, like broken glass.

“Steve?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve repeated. “Nothing matters, because he’s still dying. He could be dead right now. He could be lying dead in his bed right now and we wouldn’t even know it.”

“Steve,” Bucky whispered. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what,” Steve hissed, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. “Everyone’s thinking it, Buck. Why even bother going through this dance? It’s over.”

He wished he could top, but it came crashing over him like a freight train, words tumbling out of his mouth before his brain could even catch up.

“And honestly,” Steve laughed hysterically, “we should have seen it coming. Things were going too well, don’t you think? Two days ago we got off that quinjet from Colorado, and I had the gall to think to myself that things might actually be looking up? That things might actually turn out okay? Don’t know what the hell I was thinking. There sure as hell are no happy endings for us, not with the lives we lead. So of course Tony’s dying, _of course he is._ He’s just another goddamn tally on my never-ending list of people who leave. So excuse me for already preparing for the inevitable. I’m ready for this pain, I’m used to pain, and I am ready to drown in it instead of sniveling around for the next few days and try and trick myself into believing everything will be okay, because _it’s not,_ and I for one- ”

Steve’s rant was halted instantly, a metal fist slamming into his cheek, sending him crashing to the round like a sack of flour. He couldn’t even recover before Bucky was on him again, the pair rolling around the floor. It took way too long for Steve to figure out that Bucky was actually trying to cling to him, his body shaking with untapped emotion.

“Stop,” Bucky moaned, sniffling. _“Just stop, please.”_  

Shame poured over him in waves, and Steve grappled onto to Bucky even tighter, letting the brunette sob into his shoulder, fresh tears pouring down his own face in agreement. He could sense the others looking at them, but Steve couldn’t find it in him to respond. He couldn’t be the fearless leader they were looking for right now. No, he was just Steve, lying in anguish alongside his friends as they mourned.

Silence overtook the group again, no one willing to speak.

“Wait.” Natasha finally broke the silence. Her gaze met Steve’s. “Colorado.”

“What about it?” Clint asked.

“We were coming from Colorado,” she continued. “Extremis. Extremis!”

Bucky pulled away from Steve to look over at her. “What?”

“Extremis is basically a derivation of the serum as well, right?” She looked at Bruce for confirmation, the doctor nodding in agreement. “We don’t need years of research, because the virus already exists. _It’s already out there.”_

“Right,” Clint agreed breathily. “And it works. Those freaks can regrow limbs in seconds.”

“And if it can do that, curing smallpox should hardly be a problem,” Natasha added, a grin splitting over her face.

“Genius,” Clint beamed in reply.

_Extremis._

Steve couldn’t help but excite over the possibility. Was there a chance?

“We’ve already got the vaccine here at the tower,” Natasha continued, pointing over to Bruce. “Can’t you just work backwards until you get the original virus?”

All eyes locked with the doctors, grasping at the fringe of hope. “No.”

“What? Why?” Bucky gaped.

“I didn’t create the vaccine – Tony did. He based it off of Maya Hanson’s notes and Pepper’s infection.”

“But why can’t you just reverse engineer the vaccine?” Burke interjected. “If it was based off a viable subject- ”

“Because once he perfected the vaccine, he destroyed the rest. Said that he didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands again,” Bruce retorted. “Think of it as a system of equations. The vaccine may give me the final answer, but without a viable subject, there’s plenty of variables that I can’t measure quantitatively.”

“So we have half an answer,” Clint said dryly. “The only thing we’re missing is a viable blood sample and Tony destroyed the only one we know of. Dammit, Stark.”  

“No,” Bucky breathed out. “We know there’s at least one more hiding in Colorado.”

_“Brent Carlisle.”_

“Yep.”

“We could use his blood!”

Clint jumped up with wide eyes. “Did we just save Tony?”

Bucky laughed, harsh and broken, but pounced up, tackling Clint into a hug.

Steve gaped at the group, heart thudding in his chest. Could it be true?

“Bruce,” Steve grit out calmly. “Do not lie to me. If we get you a blood sample from Carlisle, can you recreate the Extremis virus to save Tony?”

Bruce sighed. “Potentially. Maybe.”

“I need a better answer than that, Bruce.”

“You told me not to lie to you, so that’s the best answer I can give. There’s too many ‘what-ifs’ in this scenario, even still if we miraculously find this guy. But this is the only chance we’ve got.”

Steve closed his eyes, feeling his hands clench tightly against his side.

“Come on, Stevie. We have to try.”

Steve found himself nodding. This was for Tony – he’d do more for a smaller chance in a heartbeat.

“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

* * *

Steve slipped on the hazmat suit as quickly as he could, impatiently standing through all the checks Kelley went through to make sure he was properly covered. He knew it was worth it, however, when he finally got approval to head to Tony’s quarantined area.

Convincing Kelley to let him go see Tony had not been easy, but the argument the group had over it was the perfect cover for Bucky to slip out. Knowing him, Bucky was probably already in the quinjet, off to Colorado.

_“Find him,” Steve whispered against Bucky’s lips as he said goodbye. “Don’t come back until you do.”_

_Bucky’s hands tightened on his biceps in agreement. When Steve pulled back however, he found that it wasn’t Bucky that promised the delivery, it was The Solider. That blank stare with cold eyes was the last thing he saw before Bucky was slipping out the back through a rip they’d made in the tarp along the back wall._

Stepping into the elevator, Steve was surprised to feel it go down, farther into the depths on the tower.

They stopped at the bottom floor, and Steve strode out into an area that he’d only been into once. _The Hulk Room –_ aptly named for a reinforced area designed by both Tony and Bruce to act as an emergency bunker if Bruce found himself too riled up and unable to get away from the heavy populated city in time.

There, in the middle, was a set up not much different than that in the gym – clear tarps and barriers creating almost a bubble, dozens of CDC agents walking around the outside, looking in as if Tony was an aquarium attraction.

Steve marched forward, pushing away Kelley as he tried to stall him. He only did stop when he saw that Kelley was trying to enter the bubble with him.

“No. I’m going in alone.”

“That wasn’t a stipulation,” Kelley argued. “The only reason I’ve let you up here is because you can’t get sick, but don’t think you can come up here and run the show. He’s my patient, and he needs- ”

“What he needs, you can’t give him,” Steve barked. “You and your cronies are worthless to us now. You’ll do nothing more but scare him, and I won’t have that.”

He could feel the heat of Kelley’s glare, but Steve ignored him, pushing open the flaps of the tarp.

The inside of the quarantined room was silent, expect for a steady beep from a heart monitor. They’d set up a bed in the middle and Steve could make out Tony’s dark hair from where he was curled away from Steve, a stark contrast to the white, pristine room. Seeing Tony hooked up to the monitor, surrounded by a bunch of other machines that Steve couldn’t name, was already enough to make his knees go weak, but Steve refused to crumple.

_Tony needs you._

He stepped forward, the boots of his suit crinkling against the tarped floor.

_“Go. Away.”_

Steve stumbled at the tone, breath stuttering in his lungs. Guilt bubbled up in his stomach, clawing its way up his chest.

Of course Tony didn’t want to see him. After all, it was all his fault. Steve did this to him. Steve was the reason that Tony lay here suffering, helpless to stop his life from slipping away.

“If you as so much come at me with another needle, I will personally see to it that Iron Man not-so-accidentally drops you over the Hudson River.”

“Um,” Steve responded in confusion. “I come needle free?”

Tony’s head snapped over his shoulder quickly, ending up at a painful angle as glassy eyes met Steve’s. “Steve?”

“Hi,” Steve answered softly, making towards the bed.

“Thank God,” Tony said as he flopped back down on the bed. “I thought you were another one of those minions. I swear, every time I turn away, another three pop up.”

Steve crossed the room, opting to sit in a small metal chair, right next to Tony’s bedside. It had been mere hours since Steve had seen him last and logically he knew that there shouldn’t be that much of a change in Tony’s health, but knowing all that he does now, Steve felt his world collapsing around him.

 _He already looks like a corpse,_ his mind hissed at him.

Wheezing breaths that seemed to rattle his ribcage shook through his form, his face pale and drawn. With Tony actually being conscious, it made it look surprisingly worse. It was all in the eyes. His eyes that were usually sparkling and bright, almost like molten amber that swirled like gears and cogs, appeared clouded and hazy, as if gazing into the morning fog on the harbor. There was no spark in them, the light long gone and replaced with dull, hollow replacements.

“Lookin’ good, Cap,” Tony tried to smile. “You look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.”

Steve bit his cheek to stop himself from smiling, instead shooting a confused look at Tony.

Tony gaped at him. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me that you’ve been living under my roof for how many years and I never introduced you to _Ghostbusters?”_

“No, we’ve watched it. Many times,” Steve chided. “I just like watching that appalled look on your face.”

Tony snickered, hiding in a few wet coughs. “You’re an ass.” 

Steve smiled down at him warmly. He tapped his leg nervously, letting the million dollar question slip out.

“Did they tell you?” Steve asked quietly.

Tony nodded, looking down at his hands. “Yeah,” he replied. “Bad news Bears, huh?” he tried to joke.

“I don’t know what to say,” Steve answered brokenly. “I just, I’m _so sorry,_ Tony. It’s all my fault and- ”

“Stop.”

Steve stopped, breath catching as he felt Tony grasp his hand. He looked down at where they were joined and suddenly it wasn’t enough. Steve wanted to rip off his gloves and let Tony’s heat press into his, a confirmation that he was still here and alive.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” the engineer responded. “It’s not your fault.”

“How can you say that?” Steve whispered hoarsely, unable to meet the gaze that bored into him.

“How can I not?”

The answer was so simple and so Tony that Steve felt anger bubbling low in his gut, threatening to spill over. He wanted Tony to be furious, to yell, to hit him, to do _anything -_  

“You better pack that shit down right now, Rogers, or I’ll go make you stand out there will the rest of Breaking Bad.”

“Tony,” Steve scoffed. “I- ”

“Don’t.”

“Okay,” the blonde sighed. “You’re right, I’m sor- okay.”

He saw the bed shift and looked up to see Tony silently preening. _Still a jackass._

“Really, Cap. You’d think your mother would have taught you a better bedside manner.”

_Yeah. Definitely still a jackass._

“You’re right,” Steve croaked, trying to disguise it as a laugh. “But in my defense, I was usually the one in the bed. Didn’t get much practice doing it the other way.”

Tony laughed, it quickly turning into hacking coughs. Steve was at his side in an instant, bracketing his back as he pushed one of the cloths that lay on the table beside him to his mouth, catching any discharge.

It went on for a while, Steve unable to offer more than a gentle back rub and a few encouraging words as Tony struggled to get a single breath in before a litany of coughs was pulled from his chest. When it was over, Tony collapsed against Steve as if all his strength had left him. Steve shushed him gently, rubbing the cloth over his mouth once more before pulling it away. He carefully drew away from the bed, propping Tony up against his pillows. After eyeing a small pitcher, Steve was back up, pouring Tony a glass while heading to toss the cloth in one of the bio-waste cans the CDC placed in there.

He almost lost the contents of his own stomach when he caught that the cloth was stained red.

 _Not now. Tony needs you,_ he chastised himself, tossing the rag before speeding back over to Tony. He perched himself on the side of the bed, leaning to grasp gently at the back of Tony’s neck, leading it to meet the lip of the cup, slowly offering Tony a drink.

Tony hummed his thanks before sitting back, eyes closing in exhaustion.

“It’s alright,” Steve found himself saying automatically. “You’ll be alright.”

“I don’t think this is an easy fix,” Tony groaned. “I’m not sure how the long the timeline is on this vaccine thing, but I don’t feel any different.”

_They didn’t even tell him the vaccine didn’t work. Cowards._

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve placated. “Screw them. We’ve got something that will fix you up.”

Tony furrowed his brow. “You watching those shopping channels again? How many times do I have to tell you, calling it a ‘miracle product’ doesn’t automatically make it one.”

“I don’t know, that Magic Bullet is pretty swell.”

Steve found himself soaking up every curve on Tony’s face, eyes and nose crinkling, as a genuine smile tried to stop laughter from escaping. _Even like this, he’s still so beautiful._

“You’re something else, Rogers.”

The duo dissolved into silence, Steve’s gloved fingers tracing over Tony’s arm, deftly working around black spots to trace over worn callouses, old scars, workshop burns.

“What kind of fixed are we talking about here?” Tony’s voice broke the silence. “Like fixed fixed? Or slap a piece of duct tape on it until we find the right part kind of fixed?”

That’s when Steve heard it, barely seeping through his usually sure tone.

_Fear._

Tony was scared.

“Fixed fixed,” Steve replied confidently. It didn’t matter what kinds of doubt that he had surrounding their patch-work plan; this was the only thing that provided a chance to save Tony’s life, so Steve poured every ounce of faith that he had into to.

It would work. _It had too._

“Don’t you worry,” Steve continued. “We’ll take care of everything.”

But Tony just frowned, just like Steve knew he would. It didn’t matter how furiously that fever raged; one look was all Tony needed to see right through him.

“I won’t approve of this, this plan you’re doing.”

“Probably not,” Steve said plainly. “And I’ll be more than happy to sit through every argument you want after this is over – but you have to trust me enough now to know that what we need to do is necessary to ensure that you’re still around to argue with me. Okay?”

Steve’s throat felt like ash as the words left his mouth, but he knew that it was the only way he could say it. Despite how his personality is perceived, when it came down to the bottom line, Tony was a straight-laced kind of guy. Steve first noticed it in the field together, Iron Man effortlessly falling into step, answering snipped commands with ease, running probabilities and simulations against the prospects presented.

_Give me the odds, and I’ll make it work, Rogers._

“Alright.”

Steve smiled. “Good. Now get some rest. You’ll need it for that argument that we’re going to have later.”

“Are you going to stay?”

_Yes, yes, yes._

But Steve found himself pausing, thinking back to the last real conversation they’d had together, and how it had ended. “Do you want me to?”

Something flashed across Tony’s face, gone too quickly for him to interpret before it was replaced by a fragile smile. Tony nodded, squeezing weakly at Steve’s fingers.

“Then I’ll stay here,” Steve confirmed. “For as long as you want me.”

He leaned forward, using the excuse of adjusting Tony’s pillow to run his free hand through sweat-matted hair. As always, Tony followed the touch until he was was resting back against the pillow, his head collapsing against the plush cushion, his eyes already slipping shut. Steve was tugging at the blankets, wrapping them tightly around Tony’s lithe frame when he heard it, as soft as a whisper in the wind.

_“I always want you here.”_


	11. Chapter 11

The harsh wind tore into him, blasting through each of the layers he wore. He shivered, tugging at his ill-fitting jacket, but otherwise made no room to move. He was camped outside one of the local bars, head down and hands outstretched, blending in as one of many Colorado's homeless, just intent on listening to passing conversations. 

He wasn't even sure what he was listening for, but in a fit of desperation, Bucky sat on. 

He'd landed in Estes Park yesterday, picking up the trail that had long gone cold since the team's last visit there. He'd gone back to Carlisle's last confirmed sighting, following in the same footsteps that he'd taken just days before, but came up with nothing. Carlisle was nowhere to be found.  

Bucky had returned to the quinjet, trashing almost half the inside in a fit of rage before returning to his files. Carlisle originated from Colorado, growing up in the small town of Coal Creek, finishing high school before getting hired at a local construction company. He worked there a few years before joining the army, hoping that the slight pay increase would help support the child he and his shotgun-wedding wife had on the way. He was medically discharged not even two years later; a landmine explosion had cost him a leg. The next few years were definitely the most colorful for Carlisle - DUI's, convicted armed robbery, divorce. Obviously his time in the army had taken more than just his leg. ( _"It's called PTSD now,"_ _Tony said. "Relax, I'm not trying to point fingers and say anything's wrong with you. Trust me, I'm the same way. I'm just saying, if you want to talk about anything, my workshop is always open.")_

But then all of a sudden Carlisle dropped off the map, and wasn't seen from again. Until his name found his way into AIM's database as an Extremis recipient. And until a local CCTV camera caught Carlisle walking into gas station not just last week. With two working, real legs.

After floundering around Estes Park, Bucky concluded that the man was long gone. But being a Colorado native, and with his ex-wife and child still living just a short trip down the highway, Bucky figured he couldn't have gone far. 

Which is how he ended up here, outside a dive bar in Boulder, hoping to hear one of the local construction crews walk in. With Carlisle back in action with the help of Extremis, Bucky assumed - and hoped - that he was the type of man that believed in second chances, heading home to try and pick up the pieces. Get his old job back; try to win his woman back. 

He had already been there too long but he couldn't force himself to move.  _Where would you go, anyway?_

Bucky couldn't admit to himself that he was at a dead end. It wasn't as if it were the first time a target had managed to get the upper hand, even during the time he spent as the fist of HYDRA - he was still human after all. Not that his handlers ever seemed to remember, or cared for that matter; he still had the scars to prove it. 

But this time it was different. There was too much riding on finding this man. Tony was dying and Steve was... well, Steve wasn't that far off. 

Back in the gym, Bucky saw the first cracks that were forming in Steve's armor. The blonde was inconsolable, shouting the truths that the rest of the group was not brave enough to voice. Each word stung hard and deep, each clouded with dripping guilt. It wasn't surprising - Steve was at his most reckless when he was blinded by guilt. Examples one and two being the times that Steve happily crashed into large bodies of water when trying to deal with what happened to Bucky. 

But this time, it wasn't just Steve. Steve may have been the carrier for the disease, but Bucky had been the one who hand delivered it to Tony. 

_"Put it on."_

_"Come on, doll, give us a show."_

It was a moment that would haunt him for days to come. At the time when Tony first slipped his hands through the sleeves, Bucky had dreamed about nothing except pressing Tony onto the closest surface, slowly peeling him back out of it, trailing over every inch of skin. 

But now only nightmares remained, and as Bucky pulled the jacket away, he found blackened bones instead of tanned skin. 

If Tony died, Bucky would be lost again. And he knew that Steve wouldn't be that far behind. 

_I can't let that happen. Please, God, if you could grant my tarnished soul one wish, let him live. Let Tony live. Please._

* * *

Clint huffed as he crawled through the cool vent, only stopping every so often to adjust the notebooks he had tucked in the hem of his pants. It was his fifth trip of the day, but Clint refused to complain - he was carrying precious cargo, after all. 

After they'd thrown together their patch work plan, and Bucky and Steve both long gone, Bruce had corralled Clint, tasking him to get back into Tony's lab. 

_"Tony may have gotten rid of Pepper's original Extremis samples, but JARVIS confirmed that he's got notes still locked in his lab. JARVIS has already hacked through Tony's firewalls to give us access to his electronic notes, but Maya Hansen kept hand written ones. I need to get a look at them if I'm going to have any chance of reconstructing a viable strain with Carlisle's blood."_

Clint had hastily agreed, slipping out the same hole that Bucky did and began climbing up to the ceiling. The gym ceiling, unlike the rest of the floors in the tower, housed large visible structural support beams. ( _"Have you seen Steve and Thor spar together?"_ Tony had replied when asked about it.  _"It's best to go with extra precaution before the two of them bring the whole tower down on itself.")_ There were originally only in the corners, but once Tony caught Clint do a wall run to climb up and jam himself in the corner to avoid doing drills, more were added at varying heights, so Clint could easily perch up there as he pleased. As an added benefit, there was one beam that led straight over to a suspiciously human-sized vent that connected to the rest in the tower. Clint just had to slip into the vents and crawl to the first vertical shaft connector, heading down until he reached the workshop floor using the ladder rungs that had been welded into the vents sides. ( _Tony really does think of everything,_ Clint had mused.) Then he'd drop down into the workshop and have JARVIS guide him to find one of Tony's safes, hidden beneath floor paneling. Usually it would require a hand print, voice activation, and Tony's password to open, but JARVIS seemed to be on the same wavelength that they were already on borrowed time, and bypassed the security to let Clint access the safe. It was filled with plenty of notebooks, no doubt Tony's deepest trade secrets that even he didn't trust to keep on a digital platform, but Clint bypassed them easily, grabbing what he could of Hansen's notebooks before scurrying back up the vent to get back to Bruce. Just to head back down and do it again. 

It was way too easy to slip past the guards. It was one thing that they hadn't noticed Clint dangling from the ceiling as he struggled to cram into the vents, but the fact that they hadn't noticed Bucky had been gone for almost two days was almost laughable. 

The first few times he'd slipped into the vents, Clint found him moving with the same precaution he had as that one time he and Coulson had to take out a terrorist cell that had holed up in a school. Any wrong move and the whole thing could be over. 

What would Coulson say if he were here? 

_"Quit dragging your feet, Barton. If I wanted to get caught, I would have saved you the trouble and walked through the front door myself."_

Clint sighed and looked back, realizing that yes, he was dragging his feet, carelessly banging them along the inside of the vent. It wasn't even the first time it had happened on this run. It was as if Clint was eleven again and pulling his first theft for this older brother, fingers trembling as he stuffed his pockets full of loose cash and jewelry, praying that the couple wouldn't wake up in the room next to him. Once he'd realized that the CDC guards weren't going to be an issue, Clint had become almost frantic, trying to get anything and everything over to Bruce, jumping on every chance to help. 

 _Any one of these things could be just what Bruce needs to fix Tony,_ he tried to convince himself. 

In all honestly, Clint was just happy he had a task to do. He couldn't imagine just sitting in that quarantined space, waiting for news that they were praying they never got. Clint had even offered to let Natasha do a run, just to get her head clear, but she'd refused, opting to sit with Bruce and Burke as they poured over scribbled notes. 

Each time that Clint made it to the workshop level, his hands always twitched, wanting to continue down the shaft. Down to the Hulk Room, where they were keeping Tony. The rest of them had already pleaded their case to get into Tony's quarantined section, but they'd all been shut down. Kelley said they were already risking enough letting Steve sit with him, and he couldn't even catch the disease. Rationally, Clint knew that he was already at risk for getting smallpox by leaving the safe environment set up in the gym, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He would walk straight into Tony's room naked as the day he was born with no qualm if he could - the only thing truly stopping him was the notebooks. Bruce was their biggest chance at saving Tony. And if blinking through sweat as he climbed up and down a ladder all day was the best way he could offer aid, then it was what he would do until his arms gave out. 

Clint crawled the last few feet before he was back at the entrance vent, slipping out and down the metal beams, landing silently on the floor. A quick look over at the gym door confirmed that the guards hadn't lost focus from their card game, and Clint scampered over to the plastic tarp, stepping back into their new home. 

He stepped over thin mattresses that the CDC brought to them, unused as everyone remained awake, devoting every moment to curing Tony. He only stopped to grab another water bottle from one of the cases, gulping half of it down before making it over to the rest of the group. 

The other three didn't even look up until he'd collapsed down next to Natasha, pulling another two notebooks from his waistband. 

"Here you go," he said, handing them straight over to Bruce. "Sorry about the sweat." Bruce didn't even reply, just grabbing both, handing one off to Burke before both of them began flipping through, searching for any sort of clue that Clint could never hope to find. 

"Any word from Steve?" Clint asked Natasha. 

She just shook her head, looking out through one of the tarps. 

"Well, that's good, right?" he asked, taking another sip of water. Steve only gave them an update with bad news, a constant reminder of the timeline they were working with. 

_"He can't sit up anymore."_

_"The rash has spread to his neck; it'll be on his face soon."_

_"They've put him on a nose cannula."_

_"He can't stay awake very long. And when he is, he has a hard time staying lucid."_

_"He's called Rhodes and Pepper. He's talked to his lawyers. He's getting ready."_

"I'm not too sure," Nat replied, biting her lip. She looked so lost, almost childlike, sitting in over-sized scrubs as she stared at nothing. It had been a long time since Clint had seen anything like it - in fact, he hadn't seen it since the first time they'd met. 

"What about Barnes?" 

"Nothing." 

Clint's stomach clenched. They were running out of time; they had days left, at most. It was sickening how quickly the sickness had been able to turn their worlds upside down. How quickly it was able to bring down one of the world's most brilliant giants. 

Last week, joking with Tony in his lab seemed like a lifetime ago. Except now, Clint had plenty of time to go over the whole interaction. He could tell that there was something off about the man by the look in his eyes - Clint had just assumed it was due to the fight he was having with Steve and Bucky. 

 _You should have said something. You should have done something._  

It didn't matter now. He couldn't go back and change what happened or what didn't. All he could do was get back in that vent and pray that that was the trip that he'd finally find something that would save Tony's life. 

* * *

"Where's Bucky?" 

Steve sighed, pulling the blankets higher around Tony's shoulders. It was difficult trying to maneuver around his own body and the many wires attached to Tony's frame, but Steve refused to move. It had only taken a mere few hours of sitting with Tony before he'd gotten sick of awkwardly hovering over the brunette as he tried to help through a coughing fit. Steve had huffed angrily before, much to Tony's amusement, pushing the genius to the side of the bed and clambering in alongside him. "Soon. He'll be here soon." 

_God, he hoped so._

It had been almost two days since their lips had parted and Bucky had darted out of the gym. Steve found himself hyper-vigilant, mistaking every noise he heard for a notification on his phone, crumbling every time when the bright screen gave him the same answer:  _no new messages._

Wherever Bucky was, he wasn't coming home yet. And he hadn't found Brent Carlisle. 

_They were running out of time._

Steve knew it, the CDC knew it. Tony knew it. He was sure Bucky knew as well, and that was the only thing stopping Steve from calling him, pleading for an update. 

Spots had continued to spread down Tony's arms, even began to peek out from under his shirt and adorn his neck. He couldn't sit up anymore, but Steve was more than happy to have Tony lean against him, giving him extra incline. The previous night Kelley had come in and hooked Tony up to a nasal cannula. Tony tried to push it off as long as possible but even he had given in, admitting it was getting too hard for him to breathe. 

_"Fluid's getting into his lungs. That's one of the final symptoms," Kelley admitted softly to Steve early in the morning, looking almost sympathetic as Tony lay sleeping. "The internal bleeding is spreading. Things are going to start shutting down, but if it's already made it to his lungs... that'll be what kills him."_

Steve hadn't responded, opting to look at Tony's face, memorizing each line and curve, each inch of sun-kissed skin before it too would be covered my deathly spots. 

_"We're getting a ventilator set up, so we'll be ready once it gets real bad. The way he's progressing, you might want to start getting ready. It won't be long now."_

Hours later, Kelley's last statement still managed to chill his bones, and Steve couldn't help but huddle closer to Tony, the other man leaning into the touch openly. 

It was much different than how they were yesterday, with Tony closed off, hunched over around a tablet that Steve snuck in while Steve paced around the room like a mad man. 

Steve had caught Tony making calls to his lawyers -  _"I have to get my affairs in order, Steve. Just in case."_

Steve didn't handle it well. 

They spent the whole afternoon arguing, throwing viscous barbs back and forth to deflect from the blatant fear that was engulfing the pair of them. It wasn't until Tony had literally collapsed with exhaustion that Steve found himself falling to the floor, letting out a broken moan to keep wracking sobs at bay. 

He didn't want to fight with Tony - in all honesty, he didn't have the luxury. These could be Tony's last days, and Steve wanted to spend every moment by the other man's side, offering soft reassurances and warm memories, not be at each other's throats. But he couldn't seem to help it. It was one thing to deal with the possibility of Tony's death - it was another to see Tony just simply accept it. 

_"Don't give up on me," he whispered into Tony's hair. "Fight it. Fight for me, please."_

The morning had been much more somber, both men more than happy to forget what had happened the previous day. Steve curled around Tony, acting as a shield, glaring and snapping at any CDC agent when they came in until they left. Tony hopped between frequent naps and typing on his tablet, chatting idly with JARVIS while he worked on upgrades, like it was any other day. 

As the day progressed, Tony's fingers fumbled over the keyboard until he gave up entirely, just staring at the screen blankly as JARVIS took over the whole process, mumbling incoherently every once in a while in between coughing fits. 

Tony shifted next to him. "Wha' 'bout Rhodey?" he slurred.  

"You talked to him last night," Steve reminded. "He's probably sleeping right now," he lied. 

In fact, Rhodes was on a plane back to New York. He'd been on duty the past few weeks, dealing with military operations in Kuwait, so it was honestly a miracle that they'd gotten a hold of him at all. Steve spoke to him first, trying to explain the situation as gently as possible before handing the phone over to Tony, listening as the two tried to carry on with their normal bickering as if nothing was wrong. But halfway through their conversation, Steve caught Tony spinning the same story as he did to Pepper when he'd talked to her earlier -  _"Don't bother trying to get a flight over here. I'm in Bruce's hands - he'_ _ll get me patched up before you even land. Trust me, this is a cake walk compared to palladium poisoning. You worry too much, Sourpatch."_

They were platitudes. 

_"I can't risk them getting sick," Tony explained after he'd hung up with Rhodey. "Besides, I don't want them to see me like this anyway."_

Fat load of good it did, as not even an hour had passed since Tony's conversation with Rhodes and Steve received a text from the man saying he'd was on the next flight out of the Middle East. He also confirmed that Pepper would be flying out of Malibu that next afternoon, landing around the same time he was so they could make their way over to the tower together. Steve had just smiled softly and tucked his phone away, hiding it from Tony's wondering eyes. 

Now, he watched Tony's brow furrow in confusion, struggling to remember. He could tell the moment Tony gave up trying to piece things back together, just offering a soft hum in reluctant agreement. "Talk to 'im later?" he asked. 

"Of course," Steve replied, squeezing Tony's hand in reassurance. "We'll call him again in a bit."  _Or try and sneak him and Pepper into the tower so they can sit with you while they still can._

Tony hummed again, shaking fingers moving to play with the zipper on Steve's hazmat suit as silence grew between the two of them. 

This was the hardest part, in Steve's opinion. Dealing with the quiet silence. When Tony was awake, Steve could distract himself by watching Tony and his tablet, still brilliant even now, or gently stop Tony's hands from trying to remove the cannula. He could wipe at his brow, help him lean forward as he struggled through hacking coughs. He could chat the day away with memories of their family. 

But it was here in the near silence that the crushing fear returned. It was only ever broken by the steady blip of the EKG, acting as a deadly timer, Steve unable to do anything but pray that each beep wouldn't be the last and the timer would never reach zero. He felt Tony's breath even out as the man slipped back out of consciousness, and Steve's insides began to churn, right on schedule. Every moment that Tony was awake, Steve made the unspoken agreement to dedicate himself as Tony's anchor, a strong support at his side. But as soon as Tony drifted off did the foundation begin to crumble and Steve's emotions start to flood and drown him.  

It wasn't until Steve looked down and saw the red stain of bloody tears on Tony's face did he allow himself to cry. 


	12. Chapter 12

“Now Bucky swore that he saw it work before, but he was full of shit. Not that I knew it at the time; Bucky could have convinced me to jump off the roof if he wanted to. My Ma was so mad, Tony, you should have seen her. It’s a miracle I didn’t break an arm!”

He wasn’t met with any response, so Steve looked down to see if Tony had drifted off again; but he was still awake, staring blankly into the wall.

Steve wondered what Tony had been thinking through all of this. Steve knew his own head was raging an unwinnable battle against itself; he couldn’t even imagine what Tony’s was like. If he knew Tony as well as he did, he knew that there was at least one thing that he was absolutely doing – he was counting. Counting the seconds, minutes, and hours that slipped by.

No more could Steve’s platitudes comfort him. Tony was a futurist; there was no doubt that he wasn’t thinking of the impending scenario. He’d stopped interacting with Steve and chatting with JARVIS. He stopped asking questions about Bucky, the team, his friends.

Pepper and Rhodes were supposed to be his saving grace. They were to come and lift Tony’s spirits again, but even that had backfired. Delayed flights and storms surrounding the New York area had landed all flights and barred all entries. Last time Steve checked in with Rhodes, he was in a rented car, on his way to pick up Pepper who had landed in Baltimore, just to turn around to start the drive back to the city.

 _They won’t make it here in time,_ his head hissed.

It was thoughts like those that Steve was starting to be unable to shake, unable to spin any delusion of a scenario that didn’t end in Tony’s death.

They were out of time that they didn’t have in the first place.

Steve curled more tightly against Tony, whispering another Hail Mary under his breath before talking again. It was all he could do. Just talk.

“Have I ever told you about my mother? She would have liked you,” Steve said, wiping at Tony’s mouth after the man let out a few wet coughs. At Tony’s incredulous look, he continued with a small laugh. “She would’ve!” He dabbed along the side of Tony’s chapped lips, ignoring at the red that soaked through the cloth.

_So much red._

“I think she’d give you a run for your money, though,” Steve added with a sad smile. “She was as smart as a whip. She had to be, what with trying to deal with the doctors. Didn’t take anything from anybody, no she did not. I swear, she ran that hospital herself.”

No response.

_Keep him talking. Keep him distracted. Do something!_

“I’m sorry.”

Steve startled, looking back down at Tony. “What?”

“Sorry,” the other man croaked again. “For those things I said.”

_Oh, Tony._

“Before Colorado?”

Tony nodded.

Steve sighed, rubbing at Tony’s should gently. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s already forgotten.”

But Tony just shook his head, fingers tightening their grip on Steve’s suit. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I said them.”

“It’s okay, I know,” Steve placated. “It’s not the first time that I’ve been on the receiving end of the Tony Stark Special. I doubt it will be the last.”

_Please, don’t let it be the last._

But that was obviously the wrong thing to say as Steve watched turmoil cross over Tony’s pale face, his mouth twitching unhappily.

“Don’t be like this,” Steve pleaded. _Don’t apologize._ Tony apologizing carried the weight of a much more solemn message that he was trying to convey to Steve.

“I always try to fight you,” Tony pushed on. “And for the longest time I didn’t know why. But I know now. It’s because I was wrong.”

“Wrong? What the hell are you- ”

“I spent my whole childhood listening to Howard go on and on about you. And the only thing that kept me going was convincing myself that he was wrong,” Tony moaned in between pained breaths. “That there was no way that you were at the level he praised you at, so it was okay that I wasn’t either.”

_Christ, Howard._

“But then I met you, and you know what? He was right,” Tony blubbered. “He was right about every single goddamn thing. You were just so _good,_ and I, I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Oh, come on,” Steve rambled hysterically as he tried to muster a joke. “You must be really out of it if you’re admitting Howard was right about something.”

_Please laugh. Please agree. Please quip. Please, do anything._

But it fell flat, Steve catching Tony’s shoulders start to shake.

“I’m scared.”

The words were said so softly but it came crashing over Steve like waves roaring to meet a rocky shoreline.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Steve cried. _I am too._ “But you don’t have to be scared by yourself. I’m here. I’m here with you.”

Tony clutched weakly at his hand and Steve gave himself over willingly.

“You know when I was little,” Steve started, “and I got sick. There were plenty of times where I thought- ” he broke off, unable to finish. _Where I thought that this was the day that I would die._ Tony didn’t need to hear that. “My mom would always have to work double to help pay for my medicine, but every single second that she had off she would sit and read to me.” Steve couldn’t help but smile, picturing his mother’s dulcet tones carry over the Brooklyn traffic that drifted in from his window, as she sat gracefully in the chair next to his bed, only looking up from the book to beam at him. “She had this book of fairytales that she bought for my birthday. Wanna know what my favorite was?”

Tony hummed questioningly.

“The one about the tin soldier. How he stood tall even though he came out of the mold a little different. How much he loved that paper ballerina, and how much she made him feel like he wasn’t alone. And when he fell from the window, he fought day in and day out to get back to his family, and his ballerina. So they could live happily ever after.”

“Don’t think that’s how it ends,” Tony whispered hoarsely. “They burn, in the fire. They die.”

“Not in my story,” Steve answered, pressing Tony closer against his chest. “The Tin Man deserves a happy ending as much as everyone else, don’t you think?”

* * *

“If you’re looking for an apology, you’re in the wrong place.” Clint’s tone was flippant as he crossed his arms, staring back at a furious Agent Kelley.

“I’ll deal with you later,” the man snapped before addressing the rest of the group. “It’s one thing to have you break containment within the building, but it seems that one member of your party has elected to take it a step further. Where is Mr. Barnes?”

“He had to run an errand,” Natasha replied smoothly.

Bruce looked between her and Clint. Sometimes he just forgot how easy it came to the pair of them. It was like a dance, skipping along rocks and lily pads just enough to disturb the water, but never staying long enough to get caught up and drown. They were so at ease in the face of chaos. Bruce had always envied it. Having that tenacity now would definitely be useful, especially now.  

It’s not that he didn’t think that the group could continue to operate under the CDC’s nose forever, it was just that he didn’t give it much thought, dedicating his precious time to learning the inner workings of Extremis.

But now, facing the wrath of Kelley, caught like a kid with their hand stuck in the proverbial cookie jar, had Bruce on edge, barely tamping down the urge to pace through the room. He could feel the beast rage beneath his skin, itching to answer all problems with a fight.

“Did he leave the building?” Kelley continued. “Don’t lie to me.”

“He’ll be back.”

Kelley’s face twisted angrily, yanking a glove off his hand to type in his phone.

“He’s coming back,” Bruce replied again, trying to smooth things over. It came out shakily, and Bruce discovered that he only said it to try and soothe himself.

It had been over three days since Bucky left, and they’d heard nothing but radio silence. They’d already lost so much time waiting for Bucky to find this guy, and they still needed so much more. Time to analyze his blood, to get to a working lab, to synthesize Extremis, time, time, time.

Time they didn’t have.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s coming back, because that means _he’s already left!”_ Kelley shouted. “He’s broken containment and let me guess, there’s no way to find him.”

“You’re worrying too much,” argued Clint. “He can’t get sick!”

“But he can still _get_ people sick!” Kelley roared back. “Or have you forgotten there’s evidence of that a few floors down.”

“Barnes had been decontaminated and baked under these lights just like the rest of us,” Bruce tried to placate. “There’s no way that he could have carried a strain out of here.”

“Just like there’s no way that Tony Stark could die from a strain from the 1930’s?”

No one had a good answer for that.

“Look,” Kelley sighed. “I can understand and respect that you’d do anything to help a dying friend, but this isn’t the flu. Smallpox is an _epidemic._ If it gets out there to the public, it’ll spread like wildfire, and we’ll be no better off that they were last century.”

Logically, he knew Kelley was right. Barnes had the potential of being a walking bioweapon – with the vaccine for smallpox not being available to the public, that begs the question if the CDC would even have the manpower and supply for immediate mass distribution.

At the same time, the world was at no larger risk than it already had been these past few weeks. Tony wore that jacket like a second skin; it had accompanied him to over half the footprint of New York City. And once Tony was infected? Everything he touched could have become the next carrier. But weeks have gone by and not so much as a peep from one on New York’s many hospitals – Kelley even mentioned that no one had reported anything with similar symptoms. The way Bruce was thinking, the strain that had survived on the jacket was on its last leg, and only Tony was unfortunate enough to fall victim because of his compromised immune system. He had to believe that Tony would be the only confirmed case. To help open a doorway to expose the world to the horrors that was this disease, going against everything he stood for as a doctor, would be catastrophic.

“We don’t know the exact timeline as to when Tony was infected, and he wasn’t exactly idle. Hospitals may not have seen anything yet because they might not even know about it. We didn’t know about Tony until a week ago. There’s a chance that this disease has already been out in the public for weeks. And you and I both know the fatality rate for hemorrhagic smallpox. If you have any hope that humanity would survive that onslaught, you better be thanking me that we sent Barnes out.”

He could see Kelley getting ready to continue the argument, but they were stopped by a commotion at the front entrance of the gym. As if God himself had answered his prayers, Bucky Barnes burst back through the door.

 _“Oh, thank God,”_ Natasha whispered under her breath.

Thank God, indeed.

Bucky’s eyes were wild as they darted around the group, his blue eyes flashing around like bolts of electricity. Heavy, dark bags sat under the crazed orbs, clashing with his pale skin that was covered with dirt, grease, and other unmentionables. He brushed messy hair out of his face, hand trembling as he addressed the group. “Is he?”

“No,” Clint answered easily. “He’s still kicking. You know Stark.”

Bucky breathed out a heavy sigh, laden with relief. Bruce barely had time to formulate the question he had for the man in return before Bucky was stepping out of the gym again, only to charge back in, yanking another man in with him.

_Carlisle._

“You brought Carlisle?”

“You didn’t tell me how much blood you needed, Doc,” Bucky responded. “Figured now wasn’t the time to be stingy.”

_The things that man would do for Tony._

“You kidnapped a civilian?” Kelley gaped. “And brought him back here? Does nobody understand the gravity of- ”

“Don’t worry, he has even a lesser chance of getting sick than I do,” Bucky replied. “Besides, Brent’s here to donate. _Voluntarily_.” The look the brunette shot the other man spoke volumes.

“Yes,” Carlisle agreed slowly, eyes never leaving Bucky. “Anything I can do to help.”

 _What did you promise him?_ Bruce couldn’t help but think. In the end, it didn’t matter. That was a problem to be dealt with later. Right now, they finally had a glimmer of hope, a real chance to save Tony’s life. That is, if they manage to cross this final hurdle.

Bruce looked back at Kelley. “You came from the Quarantine Station down in the city, correct? That’s where all this came from?” he asked, gesturing to their current set up. 

“Yes,” Kelley said, almost unsurely, as he continued to look at Carlisle.

“I’m assuming that’s where the vaccine came from as well. You must have a whole lab down there.” When Kelley didn’t answer, Bruce continued. “And I’m sure all this equipment had to be transferred in quite a big van. One that was insulated, and can probably transfer infected people safety through the public and back to the Quarantine Station, if needed.”

“Why?”

_That’s a yes, then._

Bruce nodded. “Okay, I’m going to need something from you.”

“What?” Kelley froze. “Are you showing symptoms?”

“No,” Bruce hastily negated. “But only you have access to a lab that I need.”

Kelley paused as he bridged the request together in his head. “No, no way. Absolutely not.”

“Kelley, please, this- ”

“This is a fool’s errand!” Kelley argued. “Whatever half-cocked plan you think you have to try and save Stark isn’t worth it. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to put the public at risk again for- ”

“It’s too late! The public is already at risk. This right here,” Bruce countered, pointing down at some of the Extremis notes he was holding, “might be the saving grace you need!”

“Look at you raving like you’d found some sort of miracle drug. You need to think of the bigger picture, Doctor. The life of one man does not negate- ”

“Show him,” Bucky interjected, jostling Carlisle’s shoulder.

Carlisle gave pause again, but after a discrete shift in Bucky’s stance, and the man was rolling up his sleeve, showing Kelley as he flexed, glowing yellows and oranges appearing vibrantly under his skin, traveling like molten lava inside his veins.

“What the hell is that?” Kelley stared, unable to stop himself from grasping at Carlisle’s arm to look more closely.

“That is Extremis,” Bruce explained, seemingly transfixed himself by the liquid fire dancing right below the skin. “And that, is the answer to a lot of your problems.”

Kelley’s head snapped towards his, the man looking at Bruce questioningly. He could feel the blatant heat from the glares he was receiving from the rest of the team. Bruce ignored them. This was the only way they were getting into that lab, and deep down, they knew it too.

“Think of Extremis as the long lost cousin to the super soldier serum,” Bruce started. “A simple derivation based on nanotechnology. But what it can do… it’s unparalleled. It was originally introduced to a test group of discharged military personnel. Ask Carlisle here how many legs he had three years ago.”

Kelley looked down at Carlisle’s legs, brow furrowing in confusion as Carlisle lifted his pants to reveal two healthy legs. “Lost a leg in Afghanistan,” Carlisle added in explanation. “It grew back.”

“I’m sorry, you said it _grew_ _back?”_

“And that’s just the beginning,” Bruce spun. “You said it yourself – smallpox is an epidemic. It’s _still_ an epidemic centuries later. How many other diseases fall into that category? How many other bioweapons are just waiting to take down humanity? _Extremis is your Holy Grail, Kelley_. Let me test it on Tony. If it works… I’ll hand the research over to the CDC.”

“Bruce,” Natasha hissed.

 _Shut up,_ he glared back in response. _We’ll deal with it later._

“You’re serious,” Kelley deadpanned.

Bruce just stuck his hand out for Kelley to shake. “Just think of how many people you can help, Kelley.”

Kelley didn’t meet his handshake, just stared impassively at Bruce before stalking back out of the room. Bruce began to panic, thinking that he’d thrown away his one chance to help Tony. He was getting ready to propose option two, adding another tally mark to the growing ‘Federal Crimes Committed’ list as he formulated a plan to break into the CDC when Kelley returned with a few others, carrying extra hazmat suits.  It wasn’t a half hour later that he, Burke, Natasha and Clint, accompanied by Kelley and Carlisle, were back in the elevator to head down to the garage, hands loaded with years of Extremis research.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Natasha said quietly, falling into step beside him as they exited the lift and started to make their journey to the van.

“I hope so too,” Bruce said in reply.

_I can’t afford to be wrong._

* * *

Bucky burst out of the elevator, ignoring every angry shout that attempted to bar his path.

“Stop! You can’t go in there without a suit!” One of them had the gall to step in front of him, gloved hands shoving him away from the tarped room.

Away from Tony.

“Does it look like I give a shit?” Bucky hissed, shoving the man aside with one arm, sending him crashing into some medical equipment. He could see the others, heads darting around as they tried to decide if they were going to try again, but Bucky overlooked them.

He yanked open the front flap to main room, eyes immediately drawn to the large lump huddled on the hospital bed. The sound of the tarp must have been startling in the quiet room, the crinkle of the heavy plastic jolting a man in another white suit out of the bed and – _was he lying in bed with Tony?_

Eyes burning with rage, Bucky charged at the suited man, yanking him off the ground by his neck, ready to throw him right through the floor.

“Buck?”

Bucky stumbled, tearing his grip away from the man – _from Steve –_ as if he was burned, gaping at his boyfriend through his clear mask.

“Stevie?”

And then Steve was crumbling, pitching forward violently into Bucky’s arms, weeping like he had when Bucky found him on the roof after his mother passed.

 _“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,”_ he wailed into Bucky’s shoulders.

“It’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay, now,” Bucky replied easily in turn, curling himself farther into the hug.

Steve pulled away far enough to meet Bucky’s gaze again. “Did you find him?”

Bucky nodded, unable to stop his grin. “Yeah,” he breathed. “He’s with Bruce. They went with Kelley to the CDC’s lab so they can recreate Extremis – _they’re gonna fix Tony.”_

And then Steve was laughing, tears still spilling down his face, his body uncontrollable to stop from shaking. “I can’t believe it,” he gasped.

“Well, you better believe it, pal. We did it; Tony’s gonna be fine.”

“Did Bruce say how long?”

Bucky shook his head distractedly, trying to look past Steve and where Tony lay. “No, I didn’t ask. I just wanted to see him.”

“I can tell,” Steve attempted to laugh. “You forget something?” he asked, gesturing at his body, where he was probably supposed to be wearing a hazmat suit.

Bucky rolled his eyes, finally pushing past Steve. “Not like I need to be protected from anything. Surprised that they managed to get you to agree to get in one.”

There was a pause, no doubt Steve questioning his decision, before Bucky heard him start to unzip. But Bucky didn’t have time to laugh at him. His eyes finally locked onto the frail form wrapped in starch sheets and he froze. Blind horror engulfed him and suddenly he felt very small and alone, like he was back staring at a rustic display of himself in a stuffy museum in D.C.

Bucky had only managed a few glimpses of Tony when they tried to break into his room last time before the CDC drugged him, but the man that lay in front of him was almost unrecognizable. Shame and guilt plagued him as he traced over every dark spot, saw each blood stain, heard every damp and shaky breath.

_You should have been faster. You should have been better. For him._

Tony had never asked for a single goddamn thing for him, and the one time that Bucky could give something to the man in return, he fumbled, drawing out his pain and misery.

He could feel his face heat and his heart stutter, emotions that he hadn’t felt in century’s time threatening to boil over. He was frozen on the spot, stuck to stare an eternity at his failures. Bucky could barely feel Steve squeeze his wrist comfortingly before he was back over at Tony’s side, now free out the hazmat suit, petting his head gently.

“Tony? Tony, sweetheart, wake up. Look who’s here.”

The prodding continued for a few minutes, but eventually Bucky saw the small fight Tony had left as the man clawed his way back into consciousness.

“Hey, beautiful,” Bucky croaked, barely keeping from shaking as he tried to see through the sea of red clouding Tony’s eyes. With hazy cognizance, Tony’s mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile, opening his mouth to reply but was cut off by a gut wrenching cough that seemed to echo through his whole rib cage.

Steve jumped into action, helping Tony lean over a bucket that had magically appeared in the blonde’s hands, and Bucky was helpless but to watch Tony gag out mounds of blood and bile. Tony’s breaths eventually started to even out – even though saying they were even was nothing but a euphemism. Tony trying to fill his lungs with air was like listening to an old car try to run again.  

“Shouldn’t he have…,” Bucky trailed off, pointing discreetly over to the side of the room to where the ventilator sat, ready for use.

“Soon,” Steve groused, biting his bottom lip as he settled Tony back down on the bed. “They’ve tried to convince him a few times, but he just bats it away. Kelley says that since Tony’s used to not being able to draw a full breath they can delay using it a little longer, but they’ll probably have to put it on tonight. I-I just,” Steve stuttered. “I can’t watch them put it on. I keep thinking that if they do, I’ll never hear-” he broke off with a sob.

_Never hear his voice again._

“It won’t come to that,” Bucky stated finally. No chance in hell was he letting Tony slip away now. They’d come too far.

Tony obviously didn’t appreciated that they were talking over him, if the unhappy groan was any indication. Bucky looked back down at the sickly man, trying to muster up a hopeful grin, listening as Tony spewed an unintelligible jab.

Steve must have understood exactly what he said, because the blonde managed to conjure up a genuine laugh before stating, “No, no marshmallow suits anymore. I took mine off because you were making fun of me so much.”

He could see Tony hesitate, brow furrowing in a look that was so achingly familiar of Tony trying to solve the jumbled mess of a problem in front of him. Bucky could see Tony’s hand moving out of the corner of his eye, pulling away to retract them closer to his chest.

Bucky snatched it back up gently. “Nice try. You won’t get us sick, genius. We’ll be fine,” he added, dropping a kiss on the man’s knuckles as if to solidify his statement.

He continued by taking his other hand to cradle Tony’s back, pushing him forward far enough for him to slip behind his back, drawing Tony back up to his chest, similar to how Steve had. “Now you listen to me,” he whispered in Tony’s ear. “You don’t have to worry any longer, okay? Bruce is whippin’ something up for you that will fix you right up. Just hold on a little longer, for us, you hear me? You do that and maybe I’ll finally admit to eating your leftovers that disappeared last month.”

Tony didn’t respond verbally, much like Bucky had predicted, but even he couldn’t ignore the light tapping of Tony’s finger against him palm.

Morse code.

 _OK,_ he said.

* * *

He could hear them breathing beside him, one on either side. They were steady, always in sync with each other. He tried to match them, but he couldn’t.

The pain had gone a long time ago. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not – it probably wasn’t. But he couldn’t find himself complaining.

Because they were here with him. And even though their soothing tones had drifted off, their sweet nothings gone from his ears, he could still feel their heat, and that was enough for him. As long as they remained, here with him. 

That was all he wanted, in the end.

* * *

He snapped back to awareness with a start.

He had a crick in his neck, and the arm rail of the hospital bed was digging painfully into the small of his back, but Steve was hesitant to move. It had taken him and Bucky far too long to find a way to fit all three of them on that bed.

Steve rubbed at his eyes, looking blearily around the room. What had woken him up? In truth, he wasn’t more than just drifting, the exhaustion of the past few days catching up with him alongside the unbridled hope of a cure that Bucky brought with him. He and Bucky sat for hours with Tony between them, trading stories, whispering promises, anything to pass the time that they sat waiting for good news from Bruce. He watched Bucky nod off mid story, his journey to Colorado catching up with him, and Steve just sat and relished in the comforting breaths of his lover beside him. It wasn’t that much longer that Steve found his eyes flutter shut, lulled by the comforting beep of the EKG.

_The EKG._

Steve reared, head snapping behind him to where the machine stood. That’s what had woken him – it wasn’t emitting any sound. Overwhelming dread poured over him, a sob welling up in his throat as he turned back to the bed where –

_Oh, thank God._

Steve couldn’t stop the aborted gasp that left his throat, followed by a hysterical laugh. He looked down at where the EKG lead was attached to Tony’s chest – or where it should have been. Instead, he found Bucky’s fingers knotted into Tony’s gown, the lead laying disconnected between them. Bucky must have knocked it loose when he shifted.

Relief bubbled through him, and Steve wound a shaking hand through his hair, yanking on it slightly. _Jesus, Buck, you just scared about ten years off my life._

Tony was still fine.

Steve leaned forward, unable to stop himself from dropping a kiss into Tony’s greasy hair. He nuzzled gently behind Tony’s ear, frowning at the feeling of chilled skin, tugging the blanket higher over both him and Bucky. Bucky, always on the same wavelength, unconsciously tightened his hold on Tony, pulling the smaller man to lay more against his chest.

They were so beautiful together.

How many times had he pictured this in his head? How many pages did this dream fill up his sketch book? How many times had Bucky whispered it into his ears as they had sex; how many times did he wake up and wish it were the first thing he saw in the morning.

Tony would be wrapped up in Bucky’s arms, sunlight slipping over the pair of them, revealing healthy Italian skin intertwining with pale. Tony would grumble as Bucky tried to wake him up, but would be unable to stop the giggle when Bucky whispered something dirty into his ear. He’d twist around until their lips let, still smiling into the kiss. Bucky would clamber over him, bracketing the genius under him, but Tony would pull away, just long enough to catch Steve’s eyes over Bucky’s shoulder. He’d grin and stretch out a hand, tugging at Steve when their fingers interlocked. And Steve would laugh, fumbling over Bucky until he finally snagged Tony’s lips with his own. They’d lay the morning away, hands roaming as they traded kisses and laughter.

But the dream faded, and Steve was left with the harsh reality that still dangled in front of him.

_But soon this reality will become nothing more than a dream – just another nightmare._

Bruce would bring Extremis, and it would in turn heal Tony. Faith had brought him this far, and all he could do was cling at its remnants as he prayed that it would be enough.

“Soon,” he whispered into Tony’s hair.

And soon it was. Steve spent a few precious minutes stretching tight muscles that hadn’t been used since he had first entered Tony’s room, but he didn’t have time to finish before the elevator opened and blobs of white sprinted to Tony’s tarped prison.

Is was Kelley. _And Bruce._

But more importantly, it was Bruce with his hands full.

_“Is that?”_

Bruce nodded, grinning as he held up the syringe. “Yes,” he gasped. “If everything went – yes.”

Steve scrambled out of bed, Bucky mirroring him, and the two of them straightened Tony back out on the bed. Steve grabbed at Tony’s free hand, bringing it up to his mouth. “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart. You’re going to be okay.”

Tony remained unconscious, but Steve just knew it wouldn’t be long until he was staring at those bright eyes again. He watched as Bruce rushed over to the IV, injecting the syringe into the bag. Steve’s eyes didn’t leave the bright liquid, watching it mix into the bag and exit, traveling down the medical tub and into Tony’s arm.

_Soon. It will be over soon._

“How long do we have to wait?” Bucky asked.

“From what I saw on the AIM video documentation that Tony saved, the process usually kicks off pretty quickly. AIM usually did multiple injections of Extremis, and we have a few extra syringes ready to go, but I’m hoping we’ll only need one. The more exposure, the more unstable the compound becomes. We just need enough to heal Tony, and then we can get him stabilized.”

Steve nodded, looking back down at Tony, eyes scanning for any type of change.

Moments passed. Nothing happened.

“What’s his heartrate?” Kelley interjected. “We might need another dosage.”

Steve bent down, realizing that he never reattached the lead to Tony’s chest. As soon as the patch was snug back on the cold torso, the entire room jolted, jumping at the harsh alarms that sounded throughout the room.

_What the – oh my God._

Steve stared at the EKG in horror, as the familiar graph of Tony’s heartbeat didn’t appear, replaced only by a single, straight line.

“Tony?” Steve gasped, looking down at the other man.

“What’s happening?” Bucky demanded.

“He has no pulse,” Kelley answered, words chilling straight down to Steve’s bones.

“No. No, no, no,” Steve negated, trying to take off and reattach the lead, heart racing when he was met with the same result. He flailed, trembling fingers pressing against Tony’s neck before giving up completely, pressing his head against Tony’s chest, and waiting for a familiar thump.

Nothing.

“No,” Steve moaned, grasping at Tony’s face. “Don’t do this. This isn’t funny, Tony, so cut it out!”

Kelley darted out of the room, his spot quickly filled by Bucky whose hands roamed over the rest of Tony’s available skin. “Doll?” he croaked. “Come on, wake up. Bruce, do something!”

But before Bruce could respond, Kelley was back in the room, a swarm of doctors following behind him.

“How long has he not been connected?!” Kelley roared over the blaring alarms.

“I-I don’t,” Steve stammered looking at the CDC agents open Tony’s mouth and shove the thick breathing tube down his throat. “No more than a few minutes, I think. It woke me up.”

“Steve? Stevie, what’s- ” Bucky tried to talk to him, but he couldn’t answer, frozen to the spot as suited doctors charged past him left and right.

It was like watching the ice and snow inch closer and closer, until the stark white engulfed his whole view before crashing. It was looking at Bucky on the bridge, seeing nothing but a haunted ghost in return. It was death, staring right back at him, laughing in his face.

He watched as Kelley ripped open Tony’s gown attaching leads from a defibrillator. He watched Tony’s chest jolt with every burst of electricity, the whine of the machine sounding eerily familiar to that of an Iron Man gauntlet. He watched the jump in the EKG, only for the graph to fall back down to the steady, deadly line of a failed attempt. He watched Bucky struggle against the masses, shouting unheard words at Steve. He watched Bruce slip by, grabbing Tony’s wrist to depress a second syringe straight into his stagnant blood stream. He watched it all, knowing that none of it mattered.

Why?

Because Tony was dying. Tony was dead.

_This can’t be happening._

He was broken from his stupor and he charged back to the bed, wanting, no, _needing,_ to be wrong. Needing to see Tony wake up and just laugh at his prank. Needing to know that this wasn’t it for him, this wasn’t the end. He could hear screaming carry over the wailing of the machinery, but he couldn’t tell who it was anymore. Maybe it was him. It didn’t matter.

Steve reached through the white suits, through the snow, clawing through the thick layers to reach the surface. To reach Tony.

But he couldn’t.

This time, Tony was too far out of his reach, and he was too weak to fight anymore. CDC agents yanked him back and Steve went, like he was wrenched into the current of the ocean, sinking further and further away. Until there was nothing left but the cold.

Steve collapsed to the ground.

“Tony, _please,”_ he sobbed.

But Tony didn’t answer.

Tony was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fairy tale that Steve mentions is called “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” by Hans Christian Andersen. Talk about a devastating read.


	13. Chapter 13

_“What’s wrong?”_

_He didn’t startle. He could hear Stark puttering around the room ages ago. It was almost as if the man was trying to he heard. He thought that that was actually the case, as if Stark was worried he’d scare him. It was nice – unnecessary, but nice._

_He looked up at the small brunette, head tilting slightly in question. It was usually enough to spear Stark on. He knew that the man had no problem with his quiet demeanor, and was more than happy to carry on both sides of the conversation himself._

_“I mean, I’m sure there’s a lot wrong, you’re just a little bit extra, well, this, today,” he said gesturing to him, as if he were supposed to know what that meant._

_But Stark was still right – he always was about these things. The way he looks at people, the same way he looks at machines. He knows what Stark can do and how vast his mind was. It made sense that he could easily pick up on discrepancies. How he handled such discrepancies was another matter entirely. He hadn’t been in the tower long, but he’d definitely heard the word ‘childish’ uttered more than he thought he would._

_The point was, was that Stark was finally starting to catch on. He couldn’t help but he stiffen around the man, caught between wanting to curl away and shut the man out for good, and needing to spill everything to him until his heart bled._

_A pool of dread sat in his stomach, growing each time Stark entered the room, each time that he pulled him away from an exhausted Rogers. Each time that he actively sought the man out. He wasn’t sure why he was doing it, he just knew that he’d find himself halfway to the penthouse before he consciously caught on to what he was doing. The man was addictive, and he couldn’t keep himself away. It was dangerous. And it would blow up in his face, he knew it would._

_“I know what you did – well, what he did. What they made you do.”_

_And there it was._

_It was a conversation that he knew was coming, but he had prayed that it never would. The hypothetical ticking time bomb. It was waiting for his finger to pull the trigger even when his brain screamed at him to stop, it was waiting for the cold to come through the vents as he stood in his glass tomb. It was being strapped down in that chair, waiting for the impending volts of electricity._

_He opted not to respond. He learned a long time ago that punishments for not answering were lighter than when he answered wrong._

_“Barnes.”_

_Barnes. His name._

_Or so they tell them._

_He knew they were right – a deep dive into the internet confirmed all that they were saying, but he still found himself hesitating. Each file he read seemed like a story, an old fairytale that couldn’t possibly be true._

_“How do you know?” His voice was grating, like nails on a chalkboard. ‘Who told you?” was the question he was really asking – he knew it wasn’t him. He was too much of a coward._

_“Steve.”_

_Makes sense._

_“I’m not mad.”_

_That time he did jolt, his gaze piercing into Stark’s, unable to comprehend._

_“Well, that’s a lie,” he laughed hollowly. “I’m mad, like, really mad. And hurt, and- and a whole blender of other feelings that I don’t even know what to call.”_

_He could relate to that. That sounded a lot like what’s going on in his head, emotions raging and battling within him, fighting for control._

_“Luckily you weren’t here for those parts. I probably wouldn’t have responded well to seeing you so soon.”_

_He wasn’t sure how Stark was able to stand to be in the same room as him, even now._

_“Do you even remember them?”_

_He sucked in a harsh breath as a litany of screams filled his head. “I remember all of them.”_

_Stark sighed, flopping down on the couch next to him. “I’m sure you know about me, right?”_

_Info flooded his brain like he’d accessed a file from his internal hard drive, his brain scrolling through facts about his accomplishments, the suits, his weaknesses._

_“When I was younger, I mean,” Stark continued. “Sometimes I see old interviews of myself and I just, I don’t know. It’s hard to believe I was ever that person. I thought I was being carefree, but in reality, I was just being ignorantly careless. I was young and stupid. You know I once gave away R &D secrets for a second blowjob?” _

_Stark chuckled. “It was the first time our stock dropped in years. Dad was so pissed. But I didn’t stop. Even after he was gone, I drank more, partied more, cared less. I became part of a system that had zero accountability, and I was okay with it._

_“I had my eyes opened. I saw what I had done, what I was doing. If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure my kill count is higher than yours.”_

_It didn’t._

_“I don’t think it’s the same,” he whispered._

_“No, I guess it isn’t,” Stark said in reply._

_He pinched his flesh hand between the metal one, watching as the flesh turned white._

_“I had a choice. You didn’t.”_

_He didn’t know what to say to that._

_“All I’m saying, is I guess I’m a sucker for second chances. And if the world was forgiving enough to give me one, then who am I to say you can’t have one either?”_

_“I don’t know if I can,” he answered truthfully. “Steve wants- ”_

_“Yeah, well that’s Steve for you. He always asks a lot,” Stark said. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? Because each time he does ask, you’re more than happy to give him everything and more. I know the feeling,” he smiled. “There’s just something about him, isn’t there?”_

_“Yes,” he couldn’t help but answer. There was something about Steve that would forever draw him in, like a moth to a flame. He just wasn’t sure what it was yet._

_The pair fell into silence. “Why are you telling me all this?”_

_Stark sighed. “I’m trying to be the bigger person here. Which, considering the type of person I am, is kind of unprecedented.”_

_“I don’t understand.”_

_“Listen, I can’t promise that this is going to be easy, but I do promise to give you a clean slate. No previous judgements from me. We’ll both start from scratch and go from there. Give you a real chance to screw up and end up on my shit list. Square deal?”_

_He felt the skin tugging at his cheeks, muscles straining at the unpracticed movement._

_He was smiling._

Bucky stood frozen, unmoving, unable to stop the scene in front of him.

It was so different than his usual nightmares – they were fast and viscous, pumping his adrenaline to the max as his head was filled with blood and violence.

But this, this was so much worse. It was prolonged, everything moving in slow motion around him, senses blurring together like he was trapped just below the water, unable to breach the surface.

There was only one constant.

That flat line of the EKG.

And something else. Screaming. _Steve’s._

They tried to yank him away, but Bucky wasn’t having it. He pushed them back, charging back over to Tony’s bedside. His mouth was pried open by a thick tube, filling his lungs with air.

_It didn’t matter if his heart wasn’t beating._

Each time Kelley brought the paddles down was like a bullet going straight through his heart, his soul crying out in anguish each time Tony flopped back down onto the bed, no different than how he was from the last pulse.

“Bruce,” he cried, looking at the doctor for answers he knew he wasn’t going to get. “It’s not working,” he blabbered. _“Why isn’t it working?!”_

“I-I don’t- ”

“Do it again,” he snapped. “Give him another dose!”

“I’ve already given him two,” Bruce shouted back, his eyes a wild green.

“I don’t care!” Bucky moaned, thrusting the man back at Tony’s body. “Bruce, _please,_ you have to fix him!”

 _“I can’t,”_ Bruce wept harshly. “He’s already dead. Oh God, _he’s dead._ I-I wasn’t fast enough. Tony, Oh God, Tony, I’m so sorry.”

“He’s right,” Kelley agreed glumly. “He’s not responding. I’m sorry, but I think we’re too late,” he admitted, already pushing the defibrillator away.

“No,” Bucky breathed. He grabbed the third syringe from Bruce and hopped back on the bed, straddling Tony. He pushed Kelley out of the way and jammed the needle directly into the side of Tony’s neck, watching as the bright liquid disappeared into Tony’s skin.

Not wasting any time, he threw away the empty syringe and grasped the sides on Tony’s face roughly, jerking his head slightly as if hoping to wake Tony up from his slumber. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you don’t get to give up. You didn’t make it this far just to quit on me now!”

Tony didn’t respond. Of course he didn’t.

He was dead.

Bucky felt himself fall, the walls that were carefully reconstructed by Tony and Steve crumpling to the ground. He pitched forward, his head falling into the crook of Tony’s neck. “Don’t do this to me,” he whimpered. _“Please._ Not you too, not you too.”

He could hear murmurs around him, Steve’s faint cries in the background, but they were all but drowned out by the roaring in his ears. A trembling hand cradled the back of Tony’s head, pushing it closer into his own body, Bucky unable to stop a broken groan that left him as Tony’s cold nose brushed against his cheek. “It’s not real, this isn’t real. Tell me it’s not real,” he whispered, knowing no one would answer him.

“Buck.”

_No._

Bucky pushed closer against Tony. He knew that tone. He knew what it wanted. It would try to take Tony away from him.

“Bucky.” Bruce grabbed his arm insistently.

 _“Fuck off,”_ Bucky hissed venomously.

“Barnes!” This time Bruce tugged at him, and Bucky couldn’t stop how quickly he snapped, jumping off the bed and grabbing at Bruce’s throat, ready to chuck him across the room.

 _“Look,”_ Bruce gasped around the tight hand around his neck, shaking finger pointing at Tony.

Bucky’s head snapped back, looking down at the man in question.

His eyes were still closed, skin still covered in blackened bumps, body still.

Except.

It was small, but it was still blatantly obvious against his pale skin. An orange hue, growing bright every second, spreading against the expanse of Tony’s neck.

“What is that?” Kelley gaped.

“Is that?” Bucky trembled.

“What’s happening?”

It was soft, so broken, that at first Bucky didn’t even realize it had come from Steve. The blonde was curled in on himself in the corner, face pale and drawn, a blunt contrast to that of his tormented red eyes.

 _“Extremis,”_ Bruce whispered.

And then Steve bolted up like a starting gun, darting over to Bucky’s side and clenching his arm like a life line.

The orange surrounding Tony’s neck started to spread, seeping through every vein. It grew like a wild fire, burning away the charred bumps that engulfed Tony’s extremities, leaving only vibrant, glowing skin behind.

And then Tony’s body jolted high off the bed, arching like it would in a horror film, the EKG blaring in alarm as –

_Oh my God._

“A heartbeat,” Kelley gaped at the machine. “He has a heartbeat.”

Tony convulsed again, almost bouncing off the bed. His body jerked and his throat constricted, choking against the breathing tube.

“Take the tube out!”

Kelley scrambled to obey, one hand pressing down on Tony’s chin to take out the long tube.

It was a mistake. As soon it was out, the space was filled with screams. Tony’s screams.

“Tony!” Steve screamed.

“Don’t,” Bruce cut him off. “We can’t stop the process. It’s the only thing that will keep him alive. Just hold him down so he doesn’t hurt himself.”

“He’s already in pain!” Bucky shouted, but even that barely carried over Tony’s screams. He watched the frail man suck in gasps of air before he was thrashing again. Bucky barely had time to recognize the signs before he was sticking his hand into Tony’s mouth, to stop him from clamping down on his own teeth as he started to seizure.

“He’s not stabilizing,” Kelley roared over the commotion. “We need to get out of here in case- ”

“No!” Bruce snapped. “He can do this!”

It was agony. Tony flip-flopped between pained wails and jerking motions, his entire body glowing like a firecracker, and all the group could do was stand there and let it happen. Bucky was torn with wanting it all to end to stop Tony’s suffering, and willing it to keep going, to keep him alive.

But it did end. Seconds, minutes, hours later. Bucky wasn’t sure. All he knew was Tony sucked in a final gasp and collapsed onto the bed. The orange that tinted his skin receded, leaving no evidence of its presence besides Tony’s sweat soaked body and shuddering breaths.

_Breaths._

He was still breathing.

The group just gaped at the man, everyone too afraid to move in case it would start all over again, or Tony’s heart would stop.

“Is it over?” Kelley asked.

“Yeah,” Bruce replied. “I-I think so.” He placed a hand against Tony’s forehead gently, tracing it down his neck to feel at a pulse that no matched the steady blip of the EKG.

“The spots are gone.”

Bruce nodded. “Listen to him breathing.”

Bucky homed in on clean, deep breaths.

“No fluid,” Kelley confirmed.

“It worked?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask. He could feel Steve shutter next to him.

“I’m not sure,” Bruce answered honestly. “The test subjects were usually injected in stages. We gave everything to Tony at once; I’m not sure if he’s in the clear yet. But we’ve got the vaccine ready if it becomes a problem. I think right now, though, it’s safe to safe that he’s alive.”

_Alive._

“Oh God,” Bucky breathed, turning towards Steve. _“He’s alive, baby, he’s alive!”_ And Steve was sobbing, shoulders wracking uncontrollably as his hands twisted into his shirt like a lifeline.

_Tony was alive._

* * *

“My leg will stay, right?”

Natasha sighed, wiping a cotton swab over Carlisle’s arm, erasing the dot of blood that seeped up from his vein.

“I can’t make any promises, but from what we’ve seen from the others is that the vaccine doesn’t undo the changes, it just eradicates what’s left to stop it from intervening again.” When Carlisle didn’t respond, she continued. “So I’d avoid any limb threatening activities in the future.”

Carlisle gave a hollow laugh. “Right, got it.”

Natasha gave him a final once over, satisfied that the treatment seemed to be taking.

“Now, as for payment.”

“Payment?”

“I talked with Barnes,” Natasha continued. “I know he made some promises.”

“They sounded more like threats, to be honest.”

“His bedside manner isn’t the best, I’ll give you that. He’s working on it.”

She walked past Carlisle to grab a file folder that Hill had stopped by earlier with.

“Now,” She said, handling the file to Carlisle. “We’ve got your plane booked. You leave tomorrow, but we’ve set you up in an Embassy Suites in the meantime. Someone will come pick you up and drop you off on the tarmac.”

“Tarmac?”

“Private jet,” Natasha shrugged. “Means no lines for you.”

“Huh,” Carlisle admonished.

“I’ve also taken the liberty to call in a few favors. You have an interview for a contracting LLC on Monday for a lead estimator. Cushy job and you won’t have to stand in the mud all day. Don’t worry, we’ve updated your resume and your endorsements. You even have a gushing review from Mr. Stark for helping lead a crew on renovations in the tower – I’m sure that will go over well with your new bosses. Don’t worry about clothes, I’m sure your suit options will be ready at your new apartment by the time you get back to Colorado.”

“My what?”

“Right, sorry, here,” she added, placing a key in Carlisle’s other hand. “New apartment, fully stocked, first year’s lease already paid for. Great location, close to the interstate and the supermarket. Oh, and I’ve included some positive signoffs from a few therapists. It’s not a lot, but I’m sure it will be enough for child services to review to get you some visitation rights for you daughter.”

Carlisle started dumbly at her. “I- I don’t understand.”

“And of course,” Natasha pressed on, slipping a business card on top of the pile. “If you continue to exhibit any symptoms or start to react badly to the vaccine, give us a call. We’ll take care of you.”

Carlisle nodded again, staring in shock at the stack of papers cradled in his hands. “Right,” he replied slowly. “Not gonna lie, I’m pretty sure this isn’t how kidnappings are supposed to go.”

Natasha shrugged. “Nothing about this situation was supposed to go as it went. It shouldn’t have happened at all. But it did. Now all we can do is try and make everything right again. It’s kind of what we do.”

“Yeah,” Carlisle laughed. “I can see that.”

Natasha smiled sweetly at him. “If you’re all set, there’s a car downstairs that will take you to your hotel. Or wherever you want to go, he’s all yours for the day.”

Carlisle shook his head in disbelief as he walked towards the door, papers cradled carefully against his chest. “Thanks, I guess?”

Natasha just smirked. “No. Thank you.”

* * *

“I’m sure they’ll be down to thank you.”

“I think it’ll be too soon if any of them see me again in this life,” Kelley joked.

Bruce smiled in agreement. He didn’t think they’d be seeing the likes of the three of them for the next few days. It had been a few days, and Tony was still asleep, but it had been long enough where everyone had breathed out a collective sigh of relief. Most of the group had felt convinced enough to leave his room and finish taking care of business, JARVIS more than happy to give them updates throughout the tower, but Bucky and Steve refused to leave, still curled around Tony protectively.

Hopeless. The three of them.

Standing in the large room, it seemed almost vacant without the CDC crawling around every nook and cranny. Now they were all gone, save for the last few who were picking up the trail remnants of their equipment. Kelley had finished his final tests this morning – the tower and all its inhabitants were all clear and disease free.

Kelley walked across the common room, stalling only in front of the bar. After Bruce nodded at his questioning look, Kelley skipped behind the bar top, pulling out two glasses and pouring a generous amount of whiskey into each one. He handed one over to Bruce, who accepted, and clinked his glass against Kelley’s, both men downing the smooth liquid easily.

“So,” Bruce started, “I’m sure you want to talk about it. Extremis.”

“What about it?”

Bruce sighed, finishing the rest of his drink. “I believe I did make you a promise. And as much as I’ve tried to weave some kind of story as to why I shouldn’t give it to you, I just can’t. You’re part of the reason my friend is breathing again. And that, to me, is worth any payment.”

Kelley studied him quietly. It was a look he was used to getting and giving.

“Well, you can rest easy, Doctor. I don’t want the virus. I just want the vaccine.”

Bruce furrowed his brow, staring back at Kelley. “What do you mean? The CDC would kill for something like this.”

“I know we would,” Kelley agreed. “After what I saw in that room, it begs the question of how many of our unsolved questions could it answer?” He broke off, pouring some more liquor into his cup, eyes tracking the amber liquid sloshing around into the crystal glass. “But it doesn’t just help, does it?”

Bruce stared back questioningly.

“I saw the files while you were working,” Kelley continued. “I saw what happened when it wasn’t contained properly. Those towns, those _people,_ they just-” Kelley broke off with a shake of his head. “Extremis could save lives, there’s no question, but how many would it end in its wake?”  

Bruce didn’t have a good answer for that.

“With the vaccine, we could distribute it to all our offices. Have one handy in case another orange-veined freak takes a walk along the promenade and the Avengers aren’t available,” Kelley shrugged. “I mean, that’s what we’re supposed to do isn’t it? Prevent diseases?

“Besides,” he continued. “We can study it. Maybe reverse engineer it one day to find a stable option. Of course, it took you a couple days and Stark a drunken holiday to figure it out. By my estimation we’ll be all caught up in a few decades,” Kelley joked.

Bruce laughed. “You sell yourself too short.”

“No, I don’t. There are things that I know I’ll never understand. But one thing I do understand, is that Extremis cannot fall into the wrong hands. Even if that means keeping it out of our own.”

“You’re a good man, Kelley.”

Kelley smiled sadly. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you the whole time.” He stuck out his hand, and Bruce extended his to meet his grasp.

“I’m out of here,” Kelley continued, stepping away from the bar. “You can ship the vaccine to my office – no rush. I’ve got a very interesting report to write, and after everything,” he sighed, looking around the room. “I just want to go home and see my kids.”

Bruce smiled, nodding understandably. He ushered Kelley over to the elevators, watching as he stepped into the lift.

“And Dr. Banner?”

Kelley turned to face him one last time.

“If anything like this happens again. Make sure when you call, I’m not the one on duty.”

* * *

He woke up warm.

It wasn’t surprising. It seemed that each day he spent in that hospital bed brought a new wave of heat, like a stove warming up one notch at a time, until the time came when the water started to boil.

And it did come. A bright and scorching heat, like a wild fire dancing through his veins, licking up his skin until there was nothing but the blinding white of fire and pain.

Each moment was pure torture, each breath like dragging an open wound through a desert.

And then it was gone. Well, not gone – he could still feel the heat simmering within him, like a ferocious beast pacing behind cage bars, waiting to be released. He shuddered slightly, his body unconsciously clenching as if to reinforce the barrier that locked it in.

“Tony?”

It was said so softly, just a wisp of a breeze, but it felt like heaven running over his charred body.

“That’s right. Come on, doll, time to wake up.”

That one was different, but no less refreshing, like ice cold water teasing against his tongue.

“Please, sweetheart. Open your eyes.”

 _Yes,_ he wanted to say. He’d do anything for that voice. So he did.

He peeled his eyes open – only to slam them shut when he was met be an unyielding plane of pure white.

He must have groaned his dissatisfaction as he heard some shuffling and a hushed conversation.

“Alright, try again, Tony,” the voice on the left whispered as a cool weight draped over his eyes.

He opened them again, more slowly this time, blinking awake to dark shadows. A hand covering his eyes. Tony tensed as the hand started to pull away, but the harsh light never came. He could still see the white but it was dulled and darkened. Someone had turned the lights off.

Colors and shapes started to bleed over the white and he realized they were bodies, circled around him.

“Tony?”

A hand surrounded his cheek, directly him gently over to the owner of that voice.

Blue.

It was the first thing he latched on too. The color of where clear skies met the sparkling sea.

_Steve._

He must have made some type of noise because Steve was grinning madly, his hand leaving Tony’s cheek to push through his hair. “Hi there,” the blonde said softly.

Tony just stared in return, each blink of his eyes giving him a clearer picture of the man that was curled around his front.

“Water?”

 _God, yes,_ does he want water. He groaned again.

Steve must have known exactly what he meant because he already had the cup, using one hand to tilt Tony’s head up slightly, the other to guide the cup to his mouth. “Slowly,” he warned.

Tony tried to listen, but he couldn’t help but suck down the water greedily.

Steve pulled the glass away when he started to cough. It felt like all he did now-a-days was cough, but this one felt good. Like clearing his throat.

“Easy, doll.”

_Bucky._

Tony snapped his head away from Steve to the weight that was resting behind him, where he was met with a different shade of blue. A layer of frost formed over a lake.

But they weren’t alone. Around his bed stood the rest of the team, staring down at him with heavy expressions.

“Who died?” he croaked.

“You are just un-fucking-believable, you know that?”

Tony peered over Steve’s shoulder to see Rhodey, shooting him a dirty stare.

Tony snorted, watching as his expression got more pinched. “Told you I’d be better by the time you got here.”

Rhodey choked out a laugh. “I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You know what, I think I actually do. I’ve put up with a lot of shit, Tony Stark, but this is where I draw the line.”

He beamed at Rhodey and got a shining smile in return. “That’s enough you two,” Pepper sniffled. She glided past Rhodey and leaned over the bed, tugging at the blanket to wrap more firmly around Tony, huffing like an exasperated mother as she tried to navigate around the two super soldiers that were crammed in the bed with him.

“Your eyes are red,” Tony started. “Are those tears for- ”

“Oh, shut up,” Pepper cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it from you, Mister.” She finished her pestering, nodding in satisfaction as she smoothed her hands over the bedding a final time. “Now you rest up, and Rhodey and I will be back in a bit with some lunch, okay? And if you’re on your best behavior, I’ll bring you a tablet.”

“Sounds like a tempting offer.”

“One that you better take,” Pepper answered, lofting an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Pepper nodded again, stepping away from the bed, yanking Rhodey with her. “Come on, soldier. Tony isn’t the only one who needs to sleep.”

Tony was still looking at the door where they left from when something was flicked at his forehead. Tony jumped, looking down at the paper football that now sat in his lap. Clint. The man was perched on the other side of the room, but he still had a clear line of Tony. “Don’t do that again.”

There was no need to explain what _that_ was.

“No arguments here,” Tony agreed.

He looked down at his hands, eyeing nothing but clear skin. “Can I assume that I’m fixed?”

“You tell me,” Bruce said, nervously looking down at him. “How do you feel?”

Tony shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

“You need to try a little harder than that,” Natasha frowned, crossing her arms. “We need to know that you’re okay.”

“Right,” Tony replied. “I mean, I just – I feel fine. It doesn’t hurt to breathe, my chest isn’t heavy. Something is different, though.”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “Extremis.”

“Guess that explains why I’m alive,” Tony countered, feeling Steve shiver against him.

“I’m sorry, it was the only way we could save you. Even then, we almost weren’t in time,” Bruce shuddered. “But don’t worry, I have the vaccine ready for you. Just, bear with me a few days. I want to make sure the smallpox is all out of your system first.”

“Fine by me,” Tony agreed.

“And before you ask,” Bruce continued. “No, you cannot test your new ‘powers’, no, you cannot try and heat coffee with your hands, and no, you absolutely cannot leave to set a fire in Reed’s lab.”

Bucky snickered, the whole bed jolting slightly.

“You’re no fun,” Tony pouted.

“Well, after the shit you just put me through, I’m allowed to be a little grumpy. You should see the other guy.”

Tony smiled warily, catching the soft amusement in Bruce’s eyes. “Rest,” he continued, giving Tony’s hand a comforting squeeze. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Tony nodded, watching him leave, Natasha and Clint trailing after him.

“Let them go,” Bucky murmured. “They’ll be back. They just need to take care of some things.”

Silence descended into the room.

“You will never do that again, do you understand me?”

Tony tried to laugh Steve’s tone off. “Pretty sure that’s not up to me.”

Steve shot him a steely look that was only broken by unshed tears. _“Never,”_ he said again, voice cracking slightly.

“Okay,” Tony retorted quietly, shock still.

He felt Bucky nose at his neck, breathing in the scent of him and Tony found himself slipping. Whatever this was, whatever they were doing, it was nice. Part of him knew that he should stop it, stop himself before he got too deep, but he couldn’t.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Steve whispered. “I know you’re tired, I just – I just need to see them for a little longer. _Please.”_

And boy, did Tony try. He blearily opened them again, staring at Steve with a half-lidded gaze. “You’re going to be okay,” Steve said. It wasn’t a question, it was a fact. A confirmation that Steve was holding him too, and didn’t seem like he was planning to let go.

“Okay,” he said again.

Steve leaded forward, pressing his lips against his forehead. “Good.”

Bucky pulled him to lean against his chest and Tony went willingly, curling around him. “We need to talk,” he said into Tony’s hairline.

That was never good.

“That’s all I’ve been doing for the last week, is listening to the pair of you talk,” Tony groaned. “And I thought I was bad.”

He felt Steve try to tuck his blanket more firmly against his side before he gave up, ripping it away to plaster himself against Tony’s side before laying it back down over all of them. “What if I promise you don’t have to listen to anything else I have to say if you listen right now?”

“I’d call you a dirty liar, Cap,” Tony answered easily.

He felt Steve’s smile against his shoulder blade. “You know me to well,” the blonde said. “But you’ll listen anyway?”

 _You know me too well,_ Tony thought to himself. “Of course.”

“It’s a story. About two soldiers who fell in love.”

Tony felt his heart clench. “If I wanted to hear about your meet-cute story, I could just open a history book.”

Bucky snorted. “Nah. They haven’t written this one down yet.”

“And they almost never would have,” Steve continued. “Because the soldiers almost missed their chance. But they won’t this time.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked wistfully.

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed, threading their hands together and bringing them up so he could kiss Tony’s knuckles. “It started with a man out of time, and a man ahead of his time.”


	14. Chapter 14

“You know, I could hear you thinking all the way from inside.”

Steve smiled, but didn’t turn around, his gaze transfixed to the waves that were crashing along the rocks. A wall of heat plastered against his back and Steve’s eyes fluttered shut as he soaked it all in. He felt a head worry between his shoulder blades as firm arms wrapped around his torso.

Steve stood there for a moment, reveling in the serenity, but mostly focused on the dull thumps his ears could pick up. A heartbeat. _His._

Steve spun around, cradling the smaller man in his grasp, staring down at him.

Endless pools of amber and chestnut stared right back.

The colors swirled together, shining brighter than any galaxy. They were such a stark contrast to how they looked just a month prior. Cold, dull, empty. Steve shuddered, his brain unwillingly supplying him a picture of Tony lying dead in his hospital bed. The blonde pressed forward, capturing Tony in a firm kiss, reassuring him that this was real, that Tony was here, warm and alive.

Tony was the first one to pull back. “You okay?” he asked, even though looking at Tony’s face, Steve knew he already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” he lied anyway.

Tony frowned, a hand coming up to cradle his cheek. An engineer, always wanting to fix. Steve smiled softly, turning his head slightly to press a kiss in the inside of his palm.

“Come back inside,” Tony whispered, pulling Steve down for a long kiss.

Steve nodded in agreement, but neither men moved, more than happy to lose themselves in the moment. It was only when Steve felt Tony shiver slightly that he pulled back, despite the unhappy noise Tony made.

“Let’s go,” Steve offered, pressing a final peck against Tony’s forehead.

Tony fell into step beside him, his callused fingers interlocking with Steve’s, tugging gently, as they departed from the beach, walking up the stoned pathway to Tony’s new Malibu residence.

The vacation was Tony’s idea, but both Steve and Bucky whole-heartedly agreed. They were more than happy to get him away from New York for a while, away from the tower, the memories, the cold.   

He thought Tony would lead them straight back to the bedroom, but apparently the brunette had different plans, veering them off into the kitchen. “I have a present for you,” Tony explained. He pushed Steve towards a small parcel wrapped in brown paper that was sitting on the countertop.

He knew Tony didn’t leave the house last night, so it must have been delivered with the rest of their luggage when they were at dinner. He didn’t notice it yesterday, but in his defense, he was rather occupied when they returned. Steve smiled at the memory of the three of them stumbling blindly down the hallway, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Steve replied softly, already ripping the wrapping paper away.

“Well, I didn’t really. It was already yours.”

Steve sucked in a sharp breath when the gift was revealed. It looked just like the one he had all those years ago.  

 _Fairy Tales_ by Hans Christian Andersen.

With trembling hands, he opened the hard copy, flipping carefully through the pages filled with detailed illustrations and small typed scrawl. But that’s when Steve started to notice.

A small stain from spilled broth.

Rips in the corners from where the pages had been turned too quickly.

Worn down illustrations from where frail hands had traced over the colors.

Flipping to the back cover confirmed his theory.

 _This book belongs to: Steve Rogers,_ written in his mother’s neat cursive.

“It’s mine?”

“Yep,” Tony answered. “I did some digging, and it turns out the SSR cleaned out your place after the plane went down. I guess Aunt Peggy wanted to make sure your stuff was looked after properly. Some of it’s been donated to museums, but everything else ended up with Dad. Who knew he was such a pack rat?”

“It was in his storage?”

Tony hummed. When Steve hesitated, Tony continued. “Don’t worry, it’s disease free.”

Steve leveled a glare at the other man.

Tony shot him a lopsided grin in return. “Too soon?”

“It’ll be too soon when I’m in my grave, Stark.”

“Sorry,” Tony countered, pressing his face into Steve’s arm.

Steve raised his shoulder, letting Tony fall into his chest, curling his arm around the smaller man as his hand ran through messy curls. “Thank you,” Steve whispered reverently.

“I just, I- ”, Tony started. “I know this whole thing was really hard on you, what with happened with you, your mom, and then me. I guess I just wanted to give you something that reminded you that there were times when it wasn’t all bad.

“I remember you telling me some of the stories out of here, just like your mother did for you. If I had to guess, I’m sure you lugged this thing to the hospital when your mom was sick. I just wanted to say thank you. And I know I’m pretty new at this whole relationship thing, so you’ll have to tell me if I did good here. My original plan was to buy you a medical wing, but Pepper just about had a conniption when I mentioned it, and I- ”

Steve cut him off, grabbing Tony with the arm not holding the book to lift him onto the counter. He stepped between Tony’s legs, yanking his head down to plunder his mouth as his heart shattered and expanded, filling with even more love for the man in front of him.

“So, I did good?” Tony asked when he pulled away, gasping for air.

“Well, if you get your ass back in bed, I’d be more than happy to show you how good you did.”

Tony grinned. “Awesome,” he blurted before hopping off the counter to tear down the hallway like a madman. Steve laughed, watching him go, listening to the thumping steps that stopped when Tony no doubt leapt onto the bed, only to hear a faint groan from Bucky that meant that the genius had dove right on top of him.

Shaking his head, he turned to nestle the book gently back in the paper, pushing it to the side for a later use. “Thanks, Ma,” he whispered under his breath before making the trek back to the bedroom.

He heard it before he saw them – low rumbles and chuckles, soft sighs, and rustling sheets. When he finally entered the room, Steve had to stop, forcing himself to watch the scene that he prayed for every night play out in front of him.

Tony was wrapped up in Bucky’s arms, sunlight slipping over the pair of them, revealing healthy Italian skin intertwining with pale. Tony grumbled as Bucky tried to move him over, but was be unable to stop the giggle when Bucky whispered something dirty into his ear. He twisted around until their lips let, still smiling into the kiss. Bucky clambered over him, bracketing the genius under him, but Tony pulled away, just long enough to catch Steve’s eyes over Bucky’s shoulder. He grinned and stretched out a hand.

Steve blinked. They were still there.

“You comin’, hot stuff?”

Laughter bubbled in his chest and Steve was startling forward, tripping over his own feet as he scrambled over to the bed, unable to keep the blinding smile off his face as his lips met Tony’s.

 _“I love you,”_ he whispered in between breaths. He heard Bucky echo his admission, the brunette pressing tightly into the crook of Tony’s neck.

Tony smiled. “I know. I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to everyone who followed, commented, and gave love to this story. I couldn't have done it without any of you.  
> Definitely a difficult road, but no less satisfying.  
> Now, off to finish Go Ugly Early!
> 
> -JAT


End file.
